


Unity 2.0

by IambicKentameter



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil
Genre: College AU, Cosette/Marius (Background) - Freeform, Jehan/Courferac (Background), Lots of back and forth between modern and original, M/M, Modern AU, Multiracial Grantaire, Original au, Reincarnation AU, Two Enjolras?, assassins creed au, good luck
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-06
Updated: 2017-07-06
Packaged: 2018-11-17 05:18:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 52,217
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11268717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IambicKentameter/pseuds/IambicKentameter
Summary: When disturbing nightmares take Grantaire to a dream therapy clinic, he finds himself a test subject for a new machine that may end up just making all of his problems worse.On the way, he meets Enjolras, the literal man of his dreams, a man who may be a bit more than he can handle, but boy is he willing to try.





	Unity 2.0

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Unity](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4523805) by [IambicKentameter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/IambicKentameter/pseuds/IambicKentameter). 



> This is a re-write of my original Assassin's Creed AU by the same name, which you're more than free to read. I think it's improved, but I'd love feedback, as all authors do.

Grantaire’s head pounded with echoing shouts, battle cries from his friends. But these cries differed from the ones before, the ones before were hopeful, they were courageous.

These new ones struck fear into Grantaire’s heart, giving him a terrible sense of justification in everything he'd ever said, although, what he said, he couldn't remember. That part of this dream was too hazy.

He rushed up the stairs of the bar, his legs carrying him without his knowledge and with even less of his permission.

From there it was short and choppy, a flash of dirty blonde hair, the setting sun reflecting off the end of a brass rifle barrel.

He might not have seen it, or heard it, but he certainly felt the stab of a hot lead bullet pierce his chest.

His world seemed to slow to half speed, and as his body was tossed backwards and downwards towards the creaky wooden floor, he remembered the film, Inception, and thought about what DiCaprio had said. “If you die in a dream, you wake up.”

So he closed his eyes tightly, and waited. Waited to wake up in his Parisian dorm room, surrounded by unfamiliar faces and the light snoring of his random roommate. But nothing came. The pain in his chest remained, his breath did not come, his limbs would not move, he could only stare at the carnage before his eyes, the slaughter he lay witness to gradually blurring as blood dripped into his eyes.

Grantaire finally woke, sheets soaked in sweat and his breath coming to him through ragged coughs. 

His roommate, Robert, stirred in the bed on the other end of the room, but said nothing; other than that, he gave no indication that he was even awake to begin with.

Grantaire lived with three other young men in his dorm, one in the same room as himself and the other two sharing a room next door. The four of them then shared everything else: a kitchen, a living room, a bathroom, and acres of personal boundaries. This was a classic set-up for those in the foreign exchange program that were slightly older than the typical college student.

In their particular arrangement, there hadn’t been a whole lot of ‘getting to know’ one another going on in the past few months of living together, mostly a lot of laying down rules between himself and Robert and the other two.

Robert and Grantaire had met in Alcoholics Anonymous, (when they'd shared a similar outlook on the prospects of rehab, and bonded over that) so when the other two, Jason and Nick, turned out to be major party animals, they were quick to make rule number one: “No alcohol in the house post party; subsection: 72 hour warning on all party plans so that Grantaire and Robert can get the fuck out of the house.”

(Rule number two was ‘touch Nick’s food and die’ but that was beyond the point.)

Grantaire eventually made his way out of his and Robert’s room and into the space that all four of them shared, running his fingers forcefully through his stubborn black curls. Their two other roommates, Nick and Jason, were sitting on the couch and an armchair respectively, each enjoying their morning in the ways they’d grown accustomed to: Nick reading something commonly known as a coffee table book, and Jason gaming quietly over a bowl of Honey Grahams.

“Morning.” His roommate shot over his shoulder casually without looking away from whatever he was making on their stove. “Sleep well?”

“No.” Grantaire plopped down in one of their armchairs, rubbing his eyes.

“I know.” Robert pried Grantaire’s hands apart and forced a fresh, hot cup of coffee into them, as he was too far gone in his own imagination to do it himself. “You need to see someone.”

“What? No. I can handle this.”

Robert rolled his eyes. “You need some way to let it all out, some sort of catharsis.”

“I could join the gym.”

“You won’t keep up with it.” Robert sat down on the couch next to him. “In AA, when we met, you used to always talk about the comfort that the pub scene gave you, and you don’t have that release anymore. This would be good for you.”

“There is a lady on campus.” Jason interjected from his seat, his DS balanced precariously on his knees. “It’s free; well, the school pays for it, but it’s enough. She’s been helping me with my anxiety.”

“It’s worth a shot.” Robert said, glancing between the two of them.

Grantaire shrugged in reluctant agreement.

~*~

Grantaire’s appointment was made for the following Tuesday, and he wasn't particularly nervous. He had every intention of walking into that room and telling her that it was nothing, just some bad dreams, nothing particularly bad. 

But the moment that he finally sat in her stiff armchair from the eighties that was across from her desk, he couldn't help himself from sort of shouting out at her exactly what he was doing there, instead of waiting for her to start.

“I have nightmares.” He blurted. “They're bad, and they leave me in these fits. And if I'm not having nightmares, then I'm not asleep.”

She blinked at him. “I'm glad you're so forthright, but maybe we can start with the basics. You're a foreign exchange student, correct?”

He nodded and explained that he was originally from London, but had come to Paris for the semester to study Art and History, as those were his two majors.

Then she allowed him to go on describing his dreams, and he did. Told her about the ones that left him shuddering because of the gunfire, told her about the ones where he woke up choking for lack of air.

“But they aren't all bad dreams,” He assured her. “Most of them are just flashes of incidents, maybe a restaurant, or a friend laughing, or a single, chaste kiss.”

She paused in her writing for a moment after he was finished to look over her notes.

“So,” She began, “You like art?” She asked with a tone of vague interest, but not rudely so.

“Of course.” He responded.

“So do you prefer to make the art or study it?”

“Create it, absolutely.” He answered definitively. “I like to paint.”

“Then my suggestion to you, between this meeting and the next, is for you to paint your dreams. Whatever comes to mind, especially these… flashes. Paint or draw or doodle or whatever you need to do, just get them all down so that your brain can start to process them, and so that I can see what we are dealing with. Sound like something you can do?”

Grantaire nodded graciously. “Thank you.”

“This is literally my job, Grantaire. I'll see you… sometime next week? Does that sound good?”

“I could come in next Wednesday.” Grantaire pulled his phone out of his pocket with practiced ease, ready to take down the time in his planner. “What time?”

“I’ll see you at 4.00. Try not to be late.”

~*~

He woke an hour after falling asleep, nearly to the minute, sheets tangled around his legs. The tank top he’d fallen asleep in nearly on backwards with how twisted it was. He stumbled out of bed, finding it difficult to balance with his body, exhausted, and mind, warped from a jarring dream, at war with one another. 

It was in this moment that he decided it had to happen tonight, in this moment.

He had a decently sized canvas left over from when he was supposed to do that project and ended up doing it on sketch paper instead. It was buried in his closet somewhere, and it took quite a bit of elbow grease and maneuvering for him to get it out without waking Robert up, but he succeeded nonetheless. His paint set was easy to collect, as it was sitting on top of his desk waiting to be noticed again after a near solid month of him not bothering with them.

He made his way into the kitchen, where he could turn on the lights without waking anyone, and made a stack of books and magazines on the counter so he could prop his canvas up in lieu of an easel that he didn’t have. A paper towel would have to suffice in place of a palate, but he made it work, and in his fervor to begin, he couldn’t have cared much either way. He just  _ had _ to get started. 

Usually, he would be doing this in his underwear or naked, not out of any kind of starving artist frivolity or any other hippie dippy bullshit, but rather for the reason that in his move to Paris from England, he’d forgotten to pack any clothes he was willing to get an oil-based paint on, and he could wash his naked body with no problem.

So instead, he was left with wearing a semi-nice university shirt-  _ that he spent money on, not one that he got for free at orientation- _ and some long jeans with a few holes in them.

Just as he was mixing a lighter peach for the cheeks of the man he was painting- mind you, this must have been at anywhere from 3.00 in the morning to 4.00 in the morning- Robert tread into the kitchen, rubbing his eyes and probably wondering why the lights were on and every available surface was covered in old newspapers.

“...What the literal fuck, Grantaire.” He grumbled, sleep tainted voice low and gravely. “Are you… painting?”

“What does it look like I’m doing?” Grantaire gingerly brushed a line of shading along a young man’s cheek, avoiding the space where he’d already painted in the gash on his face that was being stitched closed by another man, the back of whom was the only thing visible.

Robert drifted up behind him. “Huh. That’s… well, Grantaire, that’s fucking awesome. I didn’t know you could do that.”

“Yeah? Thanks man.”

“No, but like, aren’t you just an Art History Major?”

“Art Major and a History Major. Two different things.” Grantaire corrected him, not pausing in his painting either. Robert wasn't worth that right now. “What are you doing up this early?”

“Could ask you the same thing but I feel like we've arrived at that conclusion already. I wanted a glass of something, actually, but you've planted yourself in front of the cabinet I need to get to.”

“Oh, shit, sorry.” Grantaire made to pick up his stuff and move out of the way, but Robert waved him off, shaking his head.

“I can drink ice water out of a coffee mug. I have before.”

“Is that a subtle throwback to the time you and Jason left Nick and I to our own devices for a week?”

“And you did nothing. No dishes, no laundry, nothing.”

“We paid the bills and we didn’t light the place on fire.”

Robert rolled his eyes and filled the mug he'd found with water from the sink. “What exactly are you doing?”

“My therapist told me that I should try art therapy.”

“Okay…” Robert trailed off, sipping from his mug. But what's going on in the painting?”

“This man, he's a lover.” Grantaire said, pointing to the Man in his painting, who was depicted leaning back in his seat with a dreamy look on his face while another man with his back to the audience works on his face. He had a few minor cuts on his face and he seemed to be quite injured, but nothing could stop the dreamy look in his eyes. “He got in a fight with some police officers earlier in the day, but on his way home, he saw the most beautiful woman in the world. He’s in love with her now, and waxing poetic about her while this doctor friend of his stitches him up.”

“That’s quite a story.” Robert yawned, but never out of boredom. “Do you really need that much backstory for a painting?”

“First of all, hundreds of very famous paintings have way more backstory than this-” Grantaire paused so he could switch colours, and to do that, he needed to put his brush in his mouth for just a moment. Soon, he was back to painting, this time colouring in the plaid blue waistcoat the young man was wearing. “-And second, I didn’t make up any of this. It was all in my dream.”

“You dreamt about this guy?” Robert asked, disbelief in his voice.

“Sure did.” Grantaire gave him a grin that bore his teeth.

“So, your dream with him… is it safe to assume that the dream you saw him in wasn’t one of the ones where you wake up screaming?”

“I wake up screaming later. There are happy parts too, they just end in blood, or like, sweatily shooting up in bed.” Grantaire explained. “Either way, they’re so vivid that I rarely feel rested.”

“Gotcha.” Robert gave a light smack of his lips. “Good luck with that, I’m going to go to bed-”

“No, wait, wait.” Grantaire waved a hand in his direction, trying and succeeding to stop him in time. “Can you brew me a pot of coffee?”

“God, you  _ are _ crazy.” Robert smirked, shaking his head at his roommate. “Jesus, remember that time in AA, you were talking about finals week your junior year of undergrad, and you brewed an entire pot of coffee with Vodka instead of water?”

“I do remember telling the story, remember less of when it actually happened.” Grantaire chuckled, softly at first, then harder, shaking his head at himself. “God, I was stupid.”

“I wasn’t the smartest drunk in the world either.” Robert reminded him as he spooned coffee grounds into the filter.

Grantaire switched colours to the dark green of the doctor’s coat. His painting was really starting to flesh itself out, and in such a short time… he was impressed with himself, needless to say. “I’m glad we can laugh about it. I hate being bogged down by triggers, man. It’s useless to get upset about something in your past if you’re trying to, you know, get passed it.”

“Me too.” Robert agreed, eyes shifting to watch Grantaire himself instead of what he was doing. He watched the muscles of Grantaire’s shoulders bunch up under his skin with the strain and stress of being hunched over for so long. His skin had turned a shade lighter with the waxing winter and Grantaire’s terrible proclivity for staying inside constantly, shifting from a milk-chocolate colour to a shade more familiar with clay. “What else happened?” He said after a long silence. “In this dream. What else happened?”

Grantaire shrugged. “I’m pretty sure I got yelled at at some point.”

“For what?”

“Oh, I have no idea. But I shouted back, don’t you worry one bit.” Grantaire assured him. “I can take care of myself in my own dreams.”

“I don’t think waking up screaming at two o’clock in the morning counts as taking care of yourself in your own dreams.” Robert patted his shoulder in an effort to comfort him. “Anyway, it’s like 4.00 in the morning, so I’m going to turn in. Good luck, man. Coffee’s on the counter.”

Grantaire gave him a cordial nod and a wave, refocusing on the painting in front of him. He reached blindly for the Coffee mug Robert had graciously made for him. It was going to be a long night.

~*~

By the end of the next week, he found himself sitting in the waiting room outside of his therapist’s door, one leg bouncing nervously and both hands folded over his portfolio case. Out of the six or seven paintings he'd done, he'd only brought four, seeing as one was of a naked man in the bath, and the other was only half finished. 

He chewed his bottom lip nervously. What if she’d rescheduled and he hadn’t gotten the message? What if she’d-

“Grantaire?” Her voice snapped him out of his day-dreaming state.

His eyes snapped up to meet hers and he immediately stood to meet her gaze at the correct level. “Yes.”

“You brought your paintings?” She nodded to them observantly. 

“Oh, yeah, uh, just a few of them. The finished ones. They’re very, uh, bulky.” He said, holding up his portfolio bag gingerly. 

“Shall we go to my office, then? Take a look?” She suggested.

“Sure, yeah.” He gestured for her to lead the way, and she did. He sat in the chair clearly meant for patients and watched her round her room, collecting supplies that she would need before starting.

“Alright, Grantaire.” His therapist sat across from him, pad in hand ready to take notes. “Why don’t you tell me about some of these paintings you’ve done?” 

Grantaire gestured to the first one, the one of the young lover being stitched up after the fight. “This one’s an event I experienced, uh, really more of a dream... same difference.” He chuckled weakly. “Yeah, uh, This guy gets in a fight with some cops, and they whack him a good one across the face.”

“Is this man your friend, in the dream?” She asked, stylus poised at the edge of her paper.

Grantaire nodded. “Not best friends, mind you, but we are close. He calls me by my first name, and in this dream… He always says something lyrical.”

Her interest peaked at that. “Oh? Grantaire, are you implying that you’ve had this dream more than once?”

Grantaire nodded. “Oh yeah, loads. I’m always relieved when I have this dream, because, like, it’s a semi-happy one, you know?”

“It doesn’t end badly? No death or destruction?”

Grantaire shook his head. “It usually ends breathlessly, actually. And when I wake up I can’t move. Usually, if it’s a bad dream, where I die and the like, I won’t be able to move in the dream, but I’ll come shooting back into reality in an original and upright position. But with the happy ones… I can’t move when I wake up. Like my body is trying to keep me in the dream.”

She nodded slowly, not really paying attention to him as she used the end of her stylus to nudge the paintings aside one by one, looking at the one underneath in turn before once more shoving it aside. “Are all of these happy dreams?”

“Most of them.” Grantaire allowed himself a small smile; he was very proud of his work. 

“This is all good, and these paintings… my my, Grantaire, you certainly have talent.”

“Thank you.” His small smile grew into a grin.

“Do you mind if I keep these in my office so that we can refer to them at any point in our sessions, and you won’t have to keep lugging them around?” She asked sweetly.

He responded with a shrug and a nod, and she leaned away from them once more. 

“Grantaire, I’m going to be honest with you, these sleep troubles that you’re having… it’s going to take more than an hour or so of talking with me for you to start the healing process.”

He frowned, confusion hiding the fear beginning to bubble up under his skin and in the back of his throat. “What else do I need?”

Her features softened. “Oh, don’t be afraid Grantaire. I’m going to recommend you for a sleep study, that’s all. We need to actually take a look inside that brain of yours while it’s dormant.” 

She jotted something down on her note pad before tearing it off and handing it over. “Here, this is the number for a sleep study programme near London-”

“You realize that we’re not in London, right?” Grantaire tried to dampen the snark in his voice, to no avail.

“But it’s not entirely impossible journey, and this is the closest and cheapest sleep study program that this school will cover.”

“This school covers sleep studies?” Grantaire balked, staring at the paper in his hand and waiting for a more logical explanation for why everything was working out like this.

“If you add all of this to your list of worries, you’ll never get any sleep.” She said softly, obviously trying to comfort him in some way. “Call that number tomorrow morning, and they will tell you when you’re supposed to come in for testing. It should be a full night, that sound feasible?”

_ Not remotely, it seems very inconvenient.  _ Grantaire thought, but said nothing. He simply thanked her and left the room, the building, all of it, passively stewing in his rage as he went. 

~*~

“It’s like she has no regard for my schedule and my home life!” Grantaire grumbled, pacing the kitchen behind Robert, who was too busy cooking to look at him, much less divide the entirety of his attention to Grantaire’s bitching.

Nick and Jason sat on the counter opposite Robert, closing Grantaire in just a bit, giving him people on either side to bitch to. Jason and Nick would never miss the gossip, especially coming from (arguably) their most dramatic roommate.

“Jason, could you tell Grantaire he’s being irrational? It’s a new person in his life, and she’s trying to help him. Of course it’ll take time out of his schedule!” Nick nudged his best friend.

Jason shrugged, half-shaking his head. “I don’t know, man. My therapist has never done any of this to me. She’s usually really nice, she goes with my schedule, I get to pick when we meet… This woman just  _ telling _ Grantaire that one night at random, he just has to up and leave, ride a train all the way to London, sit in a machine all night, and then ride back? That seems unreal to me.”

“Hey, hey.” Nick interrupted, raising his hand about halfway to signify that he wanted to speak. “Sorry Jason, but I just looked up Eurostar tickets.”

“How long would it take?”

“About two hours fifteen.” Nick rolled his eyes, groaning. “God, that’s a long time sitting. And then he’d have to come  _ back _ .”

“Are you sure she didn’t suggest it and you just said yes?” Robert interrupted, turning away from the stove for a moment.

“Positive. She said “I’m  _ recommending  _ this sleep study. Here, take this phone number, call it tomorrow, and they will  _ tell _ you when your appointment is.”

“Well that’s fuckin weird.” Jason frowned. “Carol wouldn’t do that.”

Grantaire’s brow furrowed. “My therapist isn’t named Carol.”

Jason frowned harder, this time out of confusion. “Didn’t I tell you to go to Carol? I most definitely told you to go the my lady, I had to’ve.”

Grantaire shook his head and shrugged. “I dunno, I just showed up to the office on campus and asked to see someone. They gave me the first lady available.”

Nick chuckled. “Well my friend, that’s where you fucked up.”

~*~

The train ride there, he dedicated to reading. 

His homework could wait for when he got back, and God knows he had loads of it, but he couldn't focus on the beginnings of feudalistic societies, much less impressionist style and it's rippling effect through Paris and eventually Italy. He couldn’t focus on class readings and notes when he was bouncing around like that.

Shitty romance novels he picked up at the train station, no those were an entirely different matter. No need for focus, just the same archetypes with different names. It was quite relaxing, really.

The two hours on the train passed eventually, and with Grantaire half finished with his book, they arrived at the desired destination.

It was another four tube stops to the address he’d been given during his dreaded call to a mysterious company that didn’t bother to ask if he had classes the next day, but he walked in and up to the main desk anyway. 

“Good afternoon, sir.” The young man behind the counter was entirely too peppy for this hour on a Thursday night. Grantaire checked his watch. With the time change, it would be half eight rather than half nine, but still. Entirely too peppy. “Do you have an appointment?”

Grantaire nodded, telling the young man all of his information and handing over the slip from his therapist that was supposed to exempt him from payment. Their fingers brushed when he did so, sending the smallest, most insignificant chill up his arm, its main purpose to remind him how long it had been since he’d kissed another person, hugged someone, even sat too close to one of his roommates on the couch while they played video games. 

He shook it off; ignored it. This man might be traditionally beautiful, but he was at work. It was entirely too rude to hit on him here. 

He followed the secretary’s instructions to a tee, taking the lift up to 4 before heading down the hall to the left, until he was greeted by another lovely looking secretary, this one a young woman, who greeted him with a smile and lead him into a lab within that room, where three doctors waited with entirely unbelievable smiles on their faces. 

“Hello.” He greeted each of them in turn with a nod. “Where should I put my bag?”

The older man of the three gestured to a chair in the corner. “Have you brought pyjamas or would you like to sleep in what you’re wearing?”

Grantaire shrugged. “I’m fine in this.”

“Well, this bed is yours for the night.” He gestured to the hospital bed in the center of the room, and the three of them watched him wordlessly, still wearing eery smiles.

He laid down at their request in the pristine hospital bed, messing with the paper thin sheets to release some of his anxiety. 

It was at this moment that all three doctors leapt into action. All three of them began speaking at once, two to each other while they took Grantaire’s vitals, the other one, the only woman, asking random, seemingly unrelated questions.

“Have you eaten in the last twenty-four hours?”

“Yes, twice.” Grantaire responded, trying to ignore the needle in his middle finger. The guy could have at least warned him.

“Are you on any medication?”

“No.”

“When was your last bowel movement?”

Grantaire rolled his eyes. “Before I got on the train.”

“Any unprotected sex in the last year?”

Grantaire snorted. “None. Like, at all.”

“Countries visited in the last six months?”

“Uh, I’m living in France for the year, and I visited The States in the summer.”

The doctor scribbled something else down. “Alright… and, uh, ha, staying healthy?”

Grantaire’s eyes narrowed ever so slightly. “No. Obviously.” 

The doctor held her hands up in surrender. “Alright, alright, fine. Would you like to start?”

“As quickly as possible, yes.” 

She nodded to her associates, and they left through a side door by a mirror (Clearly a two way mirror, but it was obviously necessary.)

“Lay back for me?” She asked, and he complied, trying to get in a comfortable position for sleep. She lowered a rounded canopy-like dome from the ceiling, one that glowed softly with various readers.

“What the hell is that?”

“This is our way of seeing what’s going on in your brain.” She explained, dimming the lights. “No more wires; they were too invasive. This way we can monitor you without altering the results, as most people don’t sleep all wrapped up in wires.”

“Wow.” Grantaire stared up at it in wonder.

“So, you get settled, I’ll go warm up the machine, and we’ll get started.” Half of her face quirked up into a pinched, adorable smile, and she turned on her heel and left. 

Grantaire blinked, but he was already asleep before they had even fully turned the machine on, already charging head on into a raging nightmare he wasn’t ready for.

Wine. The smell of it, that bittersweet taste so foreign to him for so many years, now tangible on his tongue. It spilled down his canvas like tears, smearing his work from not moments before, tracking through it unsympathetically. 

Wine clouded his thoughts and sorrow followed suit, tearing at his hair and cheeks, muffling the cathartic cries he wished to give forth but to no avail; he was stifled. 

Wine caused his hands to shake, caused tears to brim too quickly and without his control.

“What the hell?!” A voice echoed; the room shifted to the left a full 90 degrees and Grantaire was on the floor, could feel hard wood pressing against his shoulder and hip bone, but his vision remained in its rose coloured tint, wavered in front of him like a drunk man on rollerblades. “What the hell?! What the hell!?” The voice kept repeating itself, over and over, inflection never changing, never resting. 

Grantaire finally found his tongue in his mouth, managed the strength to lift it in all of it’s heaviness. “What?!” He shouted back. “What have I done this time?!”

His world suddenly shot into clarity, his vision focusing and the faint buzzing noise racketing up to a 10. “Disappointed.” The voice said, a face careening close to his own, button nose wrinkled in a sneer and piercing blue eyes boring into his subconscious. “How could you?”

He could feel a bottle in his left hand, cool and light with emptiness.

“How could I what? What did I do?” He pleaded for a response from the face, but it backed away again, out of his sight and to the forefront of his mind. “Come back!”

His grip tightened on the bottle, the stench of the wine, probably a vermouth by the tang left over in his mouth and the swimming lines in front of him, radiated up from the waistcoat he was wearing for whatever reason. This was its fault, not his own, he was sure of it. He could never do anything so terrible and not remember if he were sober… right?

“How  _ dare _ you?!” The voice said again, this time louder and raspier, more gutteral, angrier.

Instinctively, he swung the Wine bottle over his head, releasing it and letting it fly, only to be met with a shattering so deafening he crumpled — hands pressed to his ears in a futile attempt to guard himself from the ever continuing noise, existing in far more than the single moment reality would allow it to have.

This was a dream. It was nothing more than a dream and the moment that dawned on him, he was awake once more. 

He sat up in the bed, hands instinctively going to the wires taped all over his head, like in the movies, but there were none. 

One of the doctors entered in that moment, the younger man that he hadn’t interacted with yet, digital pad in hand, ready to take notes. “Hello, Grantaire.”

“Hey.” He grumbled halfheartedly in return.

“Is that a usual night of sleep for you, Grantaire?” The doctor asked casually, already writing god knows what, as he hadn’t shared yet.

“Pretty much.” Grantaire shrugged. “My dream was a little more vivid this time, but vividity varies anyway.”

He was writing furiously. “Anything else?”

“I could… feel things?” He considered the statement for a moment, then shook his head fiercely. “That’s not quite right. I can usually feel things, when they’re done to me, like getting shot or slapped, but this time, I could hold something, feel it be held.”

The doctor nodded as quickly as he was writing, that is to say, quickly. “Alright, thank you Grantaire. We’re going to do one more, then we’re going to let you go.”

“What?” Grantaire frowned and shifted like he was trying to get out of the bed. 

The doctor, noticing this, immediately rushed to his side and encouraged him back in.

Grantaire complied reluctantly. “What do you mean do one more, then go? I was only asleep for like, fifteen minutes.”

The doctor shook his head. “You were out for a good hour, Grantaire. I know it seems shorter, but you got at least an hour of very fitful sleep. Not the best, I know, but keep hope in the fact that it’s better than you thought.”

Grantaire rolled his eyes. “Thanks for that.”

“Try to get back to sleep so we can start again.” The doctor called over his shoulder as he left.

“Shouldn’t be hard.” Grantaire grumbled to himself. He was fucking exhausted. 

~*~

The second go at it went about as well as the first, with a similar disembodied voice, this time coming from a melting painting that reeked of wine. That time, he didn’t bolt up, he couldn’t. His eyes were open and he was shivering, but he couldn’t move.

It took three doctors to talk him out of it, talk him through a simple movement, getting his finger from a twitch to a wiggle, until he could clench his fist. That seemed to work well enough. The female doctor sat with him for a few minutes, giving his hair a stilted pat or two in between the other two doctors leaving and the cute receptionist from downstairs bringing him a glass of warm water.

“Are you alright, sir?” He asked, taking the doctor’s place next to him on the hospital bed, that is to say, perched precariously on the edge and not touching him at all.

“Grantaire.” He grunted around a sore throat. “Sir is so… Formal.”

The receptionist chuckled. “Unless you’re in a leather bar.”

That earned a full out laugh from Grantaire. “Arguably, that’s more formal.” He sipped his water. “Thank you for this. I would have thought you were the building’s receptionist, not the one for these guys.”

He shook his head. “The whole building belongs to the same company, so all of us assistants belong to it as well. We trade out who has to be on desk.”

“Not your turn right now? Lucky you.” Grantaire mumbled deprecatingly. “You get to take care of me.”

He shrugged. “I don’t mind. I like taking care of people.”

The younger male doctor cleared his throat, interrupting their conversation. “Grantaire, We’ve got everything we need. If you want to head out, you can.”

“I think that means I’m getting kicked out.” Grantaire chuckled, tossing the single sheet off of his legs and sliding out of bed before snatching up his bag. “It was nice meeting you.”

He was out of there before they could figure out who he was talking to, already bolting down the street by the time they could come to a conclusion. 

~*~

The next morning was hard on Grantaire.

He trudged into his apartment at around 8 o’clock in the morning, post dream lab, two and a half hours after he’d been released and a little less than that since he’d ridden the chunnel back and fallen asleep on the train, only to wake up in a fit and scare the shit out of the woman next to him. He’d apologized profusely, but she’d moved seats anyway. 

There were no signs in the apartment of anyone being awake yet, but if he knew his roommates it wouldn’t be long now.

His bag fell from his shoulder of its own accord, landing somewhere near the couch that he then slumped down on, completely exhausted. It had been days since he’d slept well, seemed like hours since he’d even seen the inside of his eyelids.

The remote to their tv was nowhere in sight, and he  _ really _ didn’t feel like looking for it in that moment, so the Kinect voice commands would have to suffice.

“X-box on.” He projected weakly across the room, rubbing his temples gently.

The X-box beeped in response and turned everything on for him, even presented him with the home screen. Just as he was about to tell it what he wanted to do, someone cleared their throat behind him.

“Grantaire? Have you been out here all night?” It was Robert, of course, the only roommate who really worried about him.

Grantaire shook his head. “No, I, uh, I had that sleep study thing tonight… last night… earlier.”

Robert smiled softly and sat next to him on the couch. He handed over the remote. “Here.”

“Thanks.” Grantaire received it thankfully. 

“Tell you what,” Robert clapped a hand on Grantaire’s knee, startling him. “I’m going to go make something healthy and delicious, and you’re going to stay in here and find something for us to watch.”

Robert stood when Grantaire nodded, only to be interrupted by a quick assertion of: “Please, no vegan shit.”

“Oh my god Grantaire, when are you going to let that go? It was a  _ phase. _ ” He shot backwards over his shoulder as he strode away.

He smirked to himself, fiddling with the remote and listening to the faint sounds of Robert in the kitchen fondly. 

After searching for a few minutes for something to watch and coming up empty, he resigned and retreated into the kitchen, just as Robert tapped his wooden spoon against the edge of the pot, signaling he was finished to any  who knew these strange things about him.

“Done?” Grantaire asked, retrieving a bowl from their nearly-empty cabinets. 

“Done.” Robert affirmed, taking the bowl from him and scooping some oatmeal into it before letting Grantaire go.

He sat at their kitchen table that was only big enough for two and ate in silence for a moment. It was warm, plain with just a hint of brown sugar, and welcoming to taste. But just as he opened his mouth to talk to Robert, his phone buzzed on the table beside him.

The phone number was entirely foreign to him, not listed in his contacts or anything, but he chose to answer anyway. The country code was French, so he answered in turn.

“ _ Allo, Oui? _ ”

“Hello, is this Grantaire?” The voice was a woman’s, polite and posh. British too.

“Yeah.” He mumbled through a mouth full of oatmeal, chewing quickly and slogging it down so he could respond properly. “Yes, hello, this is he. Who is this?”

“I’m calling on behalf of your therapist, she’d like you to see her this afternoon, after you’re done with your classes.” She said, pausing for his response.

“Uh, yeah, I’d love to. Is it an emergency? Is something wrong? Is it about the sleep tests?”

“Who are you talking to?” Robert asked upon walking into the kitchen, pajama pants slung low. He scratched his lower stomach passively.

Grantaire waved him away violently with his entire arm, tucking the phone between his cheek and shoulder so he could use his other hand to hold up a single finger to his lips. 

Robert shrugged silently and made his way to the pot of oatmeal on the stove, ignoring Grantaire.

“I don’t know, sir.” She answered, tone still robotic. “I’m just the messenger.”

“Sorry, yeah, not sure why you would know that.” He sighed, running one of his free hands through his hair, trying not to jostle the phone too much. “Thanks for letting me know, yeah. I’ll put it on the schedule.”

“Not a problem sir. Goodbye.” 

His phone made a single ‘bedoop’ sound and “call ended” flashed on his screen.

He laid his phone on the table next to him and looked up at Robert, who was leaning against the counter eating his oatmeal out of a translucent yellow cup with a fork. “What the hell was that, man?”

“My therapist wanted an immediate follow up, what the hell are you doing?” Grantaire returned, gesturing quite specifically to the overly college way his roommate was eating breakfast. “We have dishes.”

“They’re all dirty.” Robert said, his mouth full. “Nick was supposed to do them and all, but alas. He’s a shit roommate.”

“If Nick was supposed to do them, I was too. We share that responsibility.” Grantaire said solemnly, referring to the chores chart that had been jotted down their first week living together as a group of four and then promptly thrown into a drawer somewhere. 

“Yeah, but you’re… you know.” Robert shrugged vaguely, not making eye contact with Grantaire.

“I’m what? Going through some shit?” Grantaire scoffed, setting his spoon down with a controlled level of force, perhaps a level a bit unnecessary. “We’re all going through some shit. Everyone in the entire world is going through some shit.” He stood. “Go get Nick, I’ll do them now.”

“You have class in like an hour!” Robert protested.

“I’ll be an hour ahead for when I get home, then.” Grantaire shot back, already starting to fill the sink with hot soapy water.

“Stubborn as a fucking mule…” Robert grumbled to himself, wandering away to the living room to do something else with his morning. 

~*~

Later that day, after his second class, Grantaire was walking down the hall to his third class when he nearly ran straight into the girl in front of him, who had stopped suddenly to tape something onto the student announcements board.

“Shit, sorry.” He mumbled, taking out a single earphone to be polite.

“No, no, I’m sorry.” She mumbled, shuffling her papers.

“What… What are you advertising for?” He asked, in French mind you, if only to be considerate to his classmate, peering at the papers in her arms rather than the one on the board for whatever reason, perhaps to establish a basic level of intimacy.

“Uh… My cat’s kind of a whore.” She responded, also in French.

“So you’re… looking for someone to help her find Jesus?” 

The girl giggled. “No, she got herself pregnant. And now I have three baby kittens to find a home for.”

Grantaire hesitated for only a moment or two. “How many of those have you hung?”

“Just a few.”

“Take ‘em down.” He insisted. “I’ll take all three.”

“Are you sure?” She asked, eyes wide and grateful.

“It was… recommended to me that I should find a companion. And I’d hate to split them up, and I have roommates that would love them-”

“They aren’t weaned yet, they need some time, but… here.” She scribbled down a ten digit number on one of her fliers and handed it over to him. “Call me or message me when you get home tonight and we’ll set up a day next week for you to come and visit them.”

“Sure thing.” He grinned, taking the flier and folding it carefully into fourths before tucking it away in his jacket pocket. “I’ll be grateful for the company, in all honesty.”

She nodded politely before excusing herself, clearly not wanting any more conversation from him. 

He smiled down at the flier in his hand, at the cartoon kitten the girl had clearly drawn on before running it through the copier. He had a companion. Not like Robert and the boys were bad companions, he could talk to them just fine about anything, but there was something so appealing about a cat, something that he couldn’t quite put his finger on. Maybe it was all the obligatory cuddling that a cat couldn’t wriggle out of. Or say ‘No Homo’.

The perfect cure for his touch starved state. 

~*~

Cat flier still in his pocket, he found himself back in his therapist’s office, one hand tucked into said pocket, fist around said cat flier. He missed the comforting weight of his bag on his back, missed the gentle leaning of his portfolio bag against his leg that he’d had the last time he was here.

“Grantaire?” His therapist’s assistant called for him, but when he looked up, his therapist herself was nowhere to be found. “She’s ready for you.”

He stood cautiously, already on the defense. “Where is she?”

“She’s in there, don’t worry. You remember which one it is, right?”

Grantaire waved her off and followed the path down the hall he’d grown only slightly used to.

Although, when he entered the usual office, it wasn’t his therapist sitting on the couch she usually occupied during their sessions, but today… today was different.

The woman sitting there wore her platinum blonde hair in a short, tight bob, only making her round face seem rounder. Her lips were painted a dull pink, one that clashed with her skin tone but made her fanged smirk pop all the more. Her legs were toned and sharp, sticking out of her silvery grey pencil skirt that accompanied the matching suit jacket.

“Sorry, uh, I must have the wrong room or-”

“Hello Grantaire, My name is Rachel Duncan.” The woman put on her best and brightest smile, her hands folded neatly in her lap. Her accent was ever so slightly British, but still Americanized enough to make Grantaire think she’d been living in the states for a few years before coming to Paris.

“Good to meet you.” He said shortly, not quite sure why this woman was talking to him in the first place, or why he’d been called down here, or where his therapist was.

“Sit down, Grantaire.” She pulled a file from the desk behind her and rested it on her lap, her smile never dropping. “We heard about your dreams, Grantaire. We heard about how they’ve been bothering you, and about how you’ve been very intrigued by their content.”

His brow furrowed in combined confusion and concern, but he obeyed her order and found his seat without really looking. “I’m sorry, how do you know that? I went to a specialist for that, isn’t that stuff supposed to be confidential?”

“Yes, yes, of course. You see, Grantaire, I am that specialist, in a way.” She assured him, chuckling. “I’m a bit higher up on the corporate ladder than your therapist, you see, and I’m here to talk about your results.”

“They’re bad, aren’t they?” Grantaire frowned. “They only call you in if it’s bad, I reckon.”

Rachel’s smile wavered. “Yes. Uhm, yes, they are… not optimal, but there is good news.”

“Lay it on me, then.”

“A company I work very close with has recently obtained permission for human trials regarding the technology they’ve been developing.”

“Kay…” Grantaire said cautiously, not sure where this was going. “Where is this going?”

“This device they’ve been developing for the past few years is something of a dream therapy device, Grantaire. Using this device, one can form a narrative story based on the patient’s nightmares and guide the process so that they have happy endings. Theoretically, they would train the patient’s brain to see the best sides of things, but that aspect has yet to be untested.”

“But… it works, right?” Grantaire asked uneasily. “I mean, it’s not going to wreck my brain?”

“Oh, of course not, absolutely not.” Rachel Duncan assured him, giving him a short, high pitched, tinkly laugh that must have been aimed to ease his nerves. “They’ve done extensive testing with lesser species, but obviously they can’t communicate with them. That’s what the human trials are for, to see if the subconscious continues to heal outside of the machine or not. We’re positive it works, though.”

“And… how much would this cost?” Grantaire asked.

Rachel shook her head, waving a hand at him dismissively. “You would be a test subject, Grantaire.  _ We _ would be paying  _ you _ .”

Grantaire swallowed. That seemed tempting. More than tempting, really. That sounded like something he needed. “How exactly is this dream therapy narrative thing going to work?” He asked. “Is it a machine that magically makes the dreams go away?”

Rachel shook her head. “The opposite, actually. We will be creating a world that your mind can wrap itself around and grow accustomed to, a world where it can run free. You will have no control over this world, and you will act in it similarly to how you do in real life.”

“What’s the point then?”

“It will… prepare your mind for dreaming, while letting your body get the rest it needs. When your brain thinks it is awake, it processes the information around it properly. But when it falls asleep, it has been creating new horrors for you every night, and that’s no good. We want it to start thinking of dreams as fiction, so we will give you a fictional world to live in, but one that’s real enough for you to comprehend.”

“Sounds fair.” Grantaire nodded his understanding, which she took as a signal to go on.

“We will, however, base our world on what has been in your dreams to begin with. Are there any details you haven’t told your therapist, perhaps about the setting or appearance of your dream?”

“Oh, uh, it’s usually pretty old, the setting, anyway. Cobblestone streets, long rifles, warm wine in a cup, not like a wine glass. Women with big skirts, and it  _ smells _ -”

“Alright, I’m sure we can come up with something based on that. Are there any cars?”

“None to speak of-”

“Duly noted.”

“-And they call me Grantaire.”

Although Rachel Duncan had opened her mouth to interrupt with something, no words came out. Her eyes widened a fraction of an inch and the very edge of her discoloured lips twitched upwards. “Grantaire? Isn’t that your name?”

Grantaire’s eyebrows furrowed. “Yes. That’s the name they call me in all of my dreams already. Is that weird?”

Whatever weirdness was happening with Rachel Duncan’s face was subsiding. “Sometimes, but these projections in your dreams are calling you by a name that you recognize because it would be easier for your mind to comprehend.”

He shrugged. “That makes sense.” 

“It’s worth taking a look into in any case. I’ll have it programmed into the machine by the end of the week.” Rachel’s assistant stepped forward and handed over her PADD for the blonde to tap around on it. “I’ve scheduled you to come into our workspace at 1.30 pm Thursday Afternoon. Does that work for you?”

Grantaire shook his head. “Uh, no, I have a class-”

“I would advise showing up ten minutes early, or not at all.”

“Sure, sure, whatever you say.” He stood and swung his backpack over his shoulder before marching out of the office, back to being miffed that no one around here seemed to take his schedule into account.

~*~

When he finally got back to the dorm, however, it seemed like it wouldn’t be the best time to vent about these people once again not taking his schedule into account and once again changing everything on him. 

But when he came through the door, he realized there were bigger issues at hand.

“Grantaire!” Robert greeted him enthusiastically the moment he stepped through the doors. “Mate, you're not going to believe it, Jason finally asked out that American girl in his Demo class-”

“Wait, which class is this?” Grantaire interrupted, his tired brain barely able to keep up with everything that was going on.

“Democratic Influences in Foreign Politics.” Jason clarified.

“Okay, keep going.”

“Yeah, so he finally asks her out, she said yes, they are going on a date  _ tonight _ , but he's thinking it might go farther, you know?”

Grantaire blinked at him.

Nick cleared his throat. “What Robert is trying to say is that you two need to take me out on the town for a few hours so he can put on the moves.”

“Wait, are you going to have to sleep on the couch?” Robert balked, rounding on his heel to face the other two. “Jason, you’re not seriously kicking him out of his room, man.”

Jason shrugged. “I’ll try to get her back to her place, but I’m not making any guarantees.”

Grantaire rolled his eyes. “We have a few hours until this is happening, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Then I’m going to take a nap.” He dropped his bag on the floor and shuffled off in the direction of his room. “Come get me when you’re ready to go out, yeah?”

“Yeah man, sleep well.”

~*~

The address of the lab where he was supposed to meet Rachel Duncan was only a short walk from his university, so when the time came, he abandoned his last class of the day and began to walk. 

He expected a tall glass skyscraper, like the one he had been sent to for the sleep study, but this was more of a dirty warehouse that stood three stories high. The outside was nice, mind you, it even looked like an apartment building, but all of this was a literal facade for what he would find within.

It was a clean space, no doubt; no dust or random piles of garbage anywhere, all the paint was new and fresh and white as eggshells, but it was still a warehouse at the end of the day, one with a large and intimidating claw looking machine descending from the ceiling and ending at just about Grantaire’s waist level. 

Off to the side, shoved in the corner was a cramped crescent moon of supercomputers; a hodge podge of wires and screens and knobs that befuddled Grantaire, but still fit with the overall look of the room.

This was not the case, however, for the plush armchair beside the control base of computers, nor for the side table and lamp beside it. That area was self-contained in a sense by a small, circular brown rug underneath of it. 

“Grantaire!” Emily’s peppy voice broke him out of his meditative observations as she bounded in front of him. “I’m so glad you’re here, I can’t wait to show you all of the cool stuff we’ve got here. I-”

“Emily, please.” Rachel stepped in from behind her. “Introduce him to the machine and get on with it.”

Emily sighed. “Grantaire,” Emily swept her arms wide, presenting the piece of technology with a flourish. “Meet the Animus.”

Grantaire followed the motion of her flourish to the gigantic suspended machine in the center of the lab. It was attached to the ceiling in a manner that seemed beautiful, but incredibly inefficient. The machine descended from the ceiling in an intertwined pillar of wires and rounded steel beams until it ended in a three pronged claw. “Woah. Uh, am I going in that thing?”

Emily nodded enthusiastically. “Isn’t it cool? I designed and invented it by myself. I built it mostly by myself too, but not entirely. I needed a team of contractors for that, you know?”

“Uh huh.” Grantaire nodded, bewildered. “Why did you have to do it by yourself?”

Emily blinked at him as if the answer was obvious. “Well, uh, this was a small project… we didn’t get any funding yet, because we’re still in testing, Rachel Duncan funded it all, and… uh-”

“What Emily isn’t saying is that this is her baby.” Rachel said, seemingly stepping out of the shadows, razor sharp heels clacking against the unpolished concrete. “She wouldn’t let anyone touch it. I haven’t touched it.”

“Rachel, it has a name.” Emily shot back, mostly teasing.

“Yes, yes, the  _ Animus _ .” Rachel said blankly, but he could practically hear the eyeroll in her voice. “Irregardless-” Emily flinched so subtly, Grantaire barely caught it. “Are you ready to meet it formally, Grantaire?”

“Of course.” He said at Emily more than Rachel; This was Emily’s baby, after all. “Lead the way.”

She beamed like a lunatic and rushed over to the platform just under the machine, beckoning him to follow her. “Alright, so this is the hand of The Animus, it’s the part that you’ll be encased in. if only minorly.”

“I’m not going to be laying down for this?” He asked.

“What? Oh, no, the whole point is to completely immerse you. You can’t be completely immersed if you’re laying in a bed.”

“I can’t?”

“Not really. Think of this as a really high tech sensory deprivation tank, but instead of depriving you of all your senses and letting you simmer until you go crazy, we deprive you of all surrounding senses and replace them with our own images and feelings while you dream, that way we can control what you’re dreaming, to a certain extent.”

“What extent is that?”

“You.” Emily gave him a light smirk. “You have complete lucidity in The Animus, and through this you can build up a tolerance to bad things in dreams, learn coping mechanisms for all this bad stuff your brain is throwing at you.”

Rachel gave a gentle cough from behind Grantaire, then cleared her throat to get rid of anything left over from said cough. 

Emily swallowed and touched Grantaire’s shoulder gently, reeling his attention back to her and away from Rachel’s potential cold. “All of this is in theory, of course. We know that it’s not deadly, from the animal testing we’ve done, and we know that the images and feelings and smells and all that are being sent somewhere, but we have no idea if it’s making it to the subject. See, dogs can’t talk back.”

“Yeah, I totally get that.” Grantaire said with a shrug. “This is a test.”

“Exactly. This is a test, and the first one with a human, so we’ll try to keep your immersion short.” Emily patted Grantaire’s shoulder in a robotic attempt to comfort him. “Are you nervous?”

Grantaire shrugged. “I’d like to get started.”

“Thank god.” Rachel groaned. “Can we move on, Emily?”

“Of course, of course.” Emily blushed slightly and pressed a button on the side of the machine; the two bottom claws opened.

Grantaire stripped off his shirt and stepped in cautiously. Emily took it from him and set it aside before beginning to hook up the machine to him. 

The whole process took less than a few short, simple minutes, but to Grantaire, the one being poked and prodded, the one that was going on less than 4 hours of sleep, it was the longest and most annoying few minutes of his entire life.

Finally, Emily stopped touching him and turned to Rachel, nodded once curtly before lowering the third claw to rest just above his head. “This is the bit that’s going to read your thoughts and all that.” She gave him a nervous smile. “Are you ready?”

“I am.” He replied firmly.

Rachel flicked a switch from over Emily’s shoulder and turned a dial up a few notches.

“I’m going to give you with something to help you sleep, and we can alter the dream from there, okay?” Emily said, her hand already grasped firmly around Grantaire’s elbow. He didn’t resist her as she delicately injected him with a thin clear liquid.

By the time she had stepped away from him entirely, he began to feel the effects of whatever she’d given him, and his eyes drifted shut of their own accord.

His vision faded to black, then to a white pixelated plain that stretched as far as he could see.

He could feel his extremities just fine; he cleared his throat in an attempt to see if he still had a voice. It worked, but the noise was dampened, as if he was hearing it from behind a thin wall or a door.

“Grantaire!” A voice with a master unseen barked at him, accompanied by two fingers suddenly appearing in the whiteness snapping in front of his face. 

“I'm sorry, do I know you?” Grantaire blinked blearily. The digital burns on the edges of his vision were only just starting to fade.

“God, you're even more delirious than usual.” The Blonde rolled his eyes severely. “How much have you had to drink today?”

“None, nothing, I swear!” He had a four year chip to prove it, too. He padded his pockets for his wallet instinctually, but it wasn't there. He didn't even have pockets in his pants, for that matter.

When he looked down at himself, he found that he looked like something out of a Jane Austen movie. Waistcoat, puffy shirt, even the dumb ties they wore for whatever reason. He tugged at it, irritated.

The blond smacked his hand away from his own big dumb tie. “Stop playing with your cravat and look at me.”

That earned Grantaire’s attention. He dropped both of his hands to his lap and sought out the gaze of the other, focusing on him if only to deduce more about who this man is and where he was in the first place.

“We’re going to the blacksmith tomorrow; Combeferre and I.”

“Why… why are you telling me this?” Grantaire asked, still peering at the fellow before him and trying to work out how they might know each other. Or, rather, how this guy might know his ancestor of the same name.

Another blond man, this one with short cropped hair and a defeated expression, approached the first man from behind, grasping his elbow as a way of gaining his attention. “Enjolras, he doesn’t care about any of this. You can’t force him to.”

This first man, who apparently was named ‘Enjolras’, turned to his companion. “If he cares about me, Combeferre, he can care about my cause.” He half-whispered. He then shook off Combeferre’s hand and turned to sit beside Grantaire at his table. “‘Taire, I… would you like some wine?”

Grantaire shook his head. “I can’t, I-” He felt around in his pockets for his five year chip, but it was nowhere to be found.  _ This wasn’t his body, only his mind. _

However, Enjolras’ eyes seemed to brighten at his response. “Thank you, Grantaire.”

“You’re welcome.” He replied awkwardly.

“Grantaire, It would mean something to me if you could come tomorrow. You may not be my second in command, but you are my… my partner, for lack of a better term. And you do indeed mean something to me.”

“I understand.” Grantaire said, even though he clearly did not understand; he had no idea what this guy was talking about. “I’ll go.”

Enjolras smiled slightly and leaned over to close the gap between them, landing the tiniest of pecks on Grantaire’s lips. “I must go attend to the gentlemen. Next week, Grantaire.”

“Next week.” He echoed, dumbfounded.

Oh.

Now he understood.

~*~

He was back in his world not a moment later, and already he was gasping to go back in. (And simultaneously, for a cigarette, but that could wait.)

“Welcome back.” Rachel said, her familiar tight smile sewn on. “And how was your trip?”

“I have to go back.” He said instantly.

She hummed, her tight smile turning to something a bit more… pitying. “Oh, I’m so sorry, but we simply can’t.”

“Why not?” Grantaire snapped, prying at his restraints even though Emily was already taking him out of the machine with practiced ease. “I need to go back, to be-”  _ with Enjolras, alone  _ “-to be among them, to figure out who he was. I can’t very well fit in with them if I have no idea who they are.”

Emily cleared her throat before speaking. “I’m sorry Grantaire, but your mind can only take so much.”

“Yes, Thank you Emily.” Rachel took the reins of the conversation. “That’s why this works as a dream therapy, you see, it works the brain to its absolute maximum, so that by the time you arrive to your home, or, more likely dorm room in your case, it is finally ready to fall asleep, and be done for the day.”

“I see.” Grantaire nodded his understanding. “My brain won’t want to give me any horrific dreams tonight because it has already worked itself to the bone on this machine.”

“Yes.” She nodded stiffly, something behind her smile that Grantaire couldn’t place. “That’s exactly right, Grantaire. Come back tomorrow, after your classes end, and we’ll see about inserting you somewhere where you can… feel out the space.”

“Thanks.” He found his shirt and tugged it back on, then shoved the sleeves up to his elbows. “I’ll be seeing you tomorrow, then?”

He was nearly out of the building when Emily stopped him in his tracks right at the door, even. “Wait, wait, Grantaire! Your bag!”

He turned round, still holding the door open for himself, and nearly had to catch the bumbling girl who was still running at a sprint to keep up with him.

“You almost forgot your backpack.” She was wheezing now, and had to pull out an inhaler before she could talk again properly.

“That’s… that’s a bit on the nose, isn’t it?” Grantaire pointed to her inhaler and chuckled to himself.

“I’m not the one who chose this life.” She shrugged, handing over his bag so he could sling it over his shoulder.

“Thanks.”

“No problem.” She beamed, then got really close to his face, uncomfortably close. “Keep an eye on Rachel. She’s got this thing… this robotic nature, alright? Hides what’s really going on under there. She’ll feed you ten lies before she gets to the truth, alright?”

And with that, before he could respond, she was gone. 

~*~

The walk home wasn’t miserable. The night air was cool, and by the time he stepped into his dorm room, Robert was already sound asleep; didn’t even rustle in his bed when Grantaire stripped down, noisily rustled around in his drawers for some sweatpants and a worn shirt with his secondary school’s name and emblem on it, and finally fell into bed without further ado.

~*~

Before he had blinked twice, his alarm was going off right in his ear, and Jason’s singing a poor rendition of ‘ _ Take A Chance On Me _ ’ in the shower. He sat up groggily and scanned the room for Robert, who had seemingly just sat up in bed, potentially also at the alarm going off.

“Sleep well?”

“Like a baby.” Grantaire gave him a groggy grin. “You?”

“Better than usual, not worrying about you as much.” Robert grinned. “You have plans for today?”

“Class.” He answered simply, rolling out of bed and stripping out of his pyjamas quickly so he could dress.

“No more painting?” 

Grantaire scoffed. “Of course more painting. I have every intention to continue my work. And hey, if they can’t be used to help me in therapy, I can at least put them in my portfolio.”

“The one I saw was damn good.” Robert agreed. “When are you going back?”

“Tomorrow. There were a lot of unanswered questions left by that session and I need answers.” He tugged on a shirt, then his shoulder bag, and gave Robert a nod. “I’ll see you tonight.” 

He grabbed a piece of toast from Nick’s plate on the way out and crammed it in his mouth, leaving Nick with a cheeky grin and a half wave.

~*~

The next day he found himself back at the lab, strapped back into the Animus for the second time in 18 hours, and he was vibrating with excitement. He hadn’t felt so rejuvenated in months, hadn’t been able to sleep like he did the night before since he’d arrived in Paris. 

He barely listened to what Emily had to say, just nodded and accepted whatever she was saying, and before he could blink twice, he was back in the pure white world of the Animus.

He calmed his breathing and waited, waited for the cafe to fade in around him, waited for Enjolras’ sharp, passionate features to come into focus before him.

Enjolras sat on the other side of the table from him, speaking in a low, calm voice to Combeferre about something Grantaire couldn’t quite overhear.

“Enjolras?” He piped up, drawing attention from both of the other men. 

Enjolras turned to look at him curiously. “Grantaire, I’m sort of busy right now…”

“I need to talk to you.” He said, not sure what the problem was. “It… it can wait.”

Enjolras frowned. “Combeferre, I’ll meet with you later.” He waved off the other blond man, and leaned forward into Grantaire's space. “If  _ you _ think it can wait, it must be important. Usually you’d interrupt me with the most mundane of shit.” 

“Enjolras, I… I just need to clear some things up with you.” Grantaire was playing with his hands in his lap for some odd reason. 

At least, Enjolras was looking at him as if he was acting strangely, so it was safe to assume that this Enjolras’ version of Grantaire didn’t do that. “Alright, go on. I’m listening.”

“What… what are we? To each other, that is?”

Enjolras rolled his eyes. “Well, R, I was under the impression that we were together.”

Grantaire sighed in exasperation. “That could mean anything, really.”

This seemed to piss Enjolras off more than anything else Grantaire had said in his last visit and this one combined, which, going by the sheer amount of times Enjolras rolled his eyes at him, was a substantial amount of pissed off to be.

Although, before Grantaire was quite done with this thought, Enjolras was sliding into his lap, arms resting on either shoulder and legs straddling him, boxing him in. 

“...Enjolras…” Grantaire couldn’t force himself to look the other in the eyes.

“You are  _ mine _ , and I am  _ yours.” _ He growled, nipping at Grantaire’s bottom lip. “God, I hate you when you’re like this. Are you drunk?”

“Never.” Grantaire mumbled as best he could with Enjolras still attacking his mouth. This was all very confusing, as you can imagine, having a gorgeous man writhing in his lap and plucking at the buttons on his waistcoat, tearing it off of his body and then going to work on his shirt.

“Jesus, work with me here, Grantaire.” Enjolras growled, struggling to get off his shirt with little to no avail.

This was starting to make more sense. They were in a relationship. A relationship where they kissed, and were together, and, if this was going where Grantaire thought it was going, had sex with each other. 

He tugged his shirt off over his head and tossed it aside. 

Enjolras slid off of his lap and dropped his pants before scuttling backwards towards the bed in the room. (Grantaire had no way of knowing whose bed this was, but he sincerely hoped it was one of theirs. Maybe both of theirs, even, if they really were this close.) 

Grantaire followed him up the bed, crouching on the foot of it respectfully and in awe of the picturesque man laid out before him.

“The jar is in my bedside table, like always.” Enjolras’ fingers trailed over his own naked chest, tempting Grantaire. One of his hands drifted down and wrapped itself around his erection, tugging it gently, teasing himself before Grantaire’s eyes purposefully. 

Grantaire gulped at that, slowly reaching out for the oil. He poured some of it over his fingers, hands shaking in just the slightest. Slowly, he pushed a finger against Enjolras’ hole.

Enjolras sighed audibly in contentment. "Don't be shy, R. You’re not going to break me. You’ve never broken me before.”

Grantaire pushed his finger inside of him, quickly adding a second. He began to scissor them inside of him cautiously.

Enjolras licked his lips and drew Grantaire into a deep kiss, searching his mouth with his tongue passionately. 

Grantaire's lips easily parted against his to taste him, to explore his mouth in return. He began to work his fingers quickly in and out of Enjolras, soon adding a third to stretch him adequately.

Enjolras moaned softly, suddenly anticipating this more than he had been a few moments ago.

After a few more moments of this, Grantaire slowly pulled his fingers out of him, deeming him ready. He rolled onto his back, his hands sliding around Enjolras' thighs and pulling him along, so that Enjolras was straddling his waist. Enjolras didn’t resist the tugging, just went along with it as though this was completely natural.

It felt that way to Grantaire as well, as though they’d been doing this for years and they were just going through the motions.

Enjolras sat up so that he was towering above Grantaire and sitting gently on his lap, not paying any attention his tented trousers. "You're beautiful, you know."

A blush crept along Grantaire’s cheeks, so he murmured back softly, "So are you." People don’t usually talk to him in bed, and pillow talk after was certainly out of the question.

Enjolras kissed him sweetly. "I want you inside me."

"I do.. Yes, I want that too." Grantaire said, awkward and stilted, tracing Enjolras’ ribs with his fingers, gently exploring this beautiful man’s body for the first time.

Enjolras chuckled. "Please, take your time." He said sarcastically, rolling his eyes. 

"Ah, yes, just need to, uh..." He slid his hands along Enjolras’ thighs, glancing up at him and then down at his pants, which were still on.

Enjolras nodded, their noses brushing. "You know what to do, right?" He smirked.

Grantaire smirked up at him, regaining a bit of confidence from the assumed familiarity. "Of course. I was just wondering if you'd... like to ride me."

Enjolras blinked at his forwardness, then slid up and sat on Grantaire's cock in one move, moaning softly at the suddenness of it all. A pleased smirk followed when he saw what he was doing to Grantaire.

Grantaire was too busy moaning as the sensation of being deep inside of Enjolras' tight warmth so suddenly. He slid his hand along Enjolras’ thigh, grasping his it hard as he thrust up into him gently, hesitantly.

"Oh..."  Enjolras sighed at that little thrust. "Oh, that's good, Grantaire. Just like that."

Grantaire bit hard into his  bottom lip, but nodded. He rocked hard into him, thrusting into him.

Enjolras gasped when the head of Grantaire’s cock brushed against the spot deep inside of him. He rocked back and forth, rubbing that spot for himself over and over again, not letting Grantaire do any of the work. "F-fuck, Grantaire..."

Watching him ride his cock had to be one of the hottest things Grantaire had ever seen. He dragged his nails along his thighs, leaving track marks in his skin, pushing deep into him as Enjolras rode him.

Enjolras' nails dug into Grantaire's chest as he rode him harder, faster, desperately seeking release.

"Oh, oh my god, Enj..." He groaned out as he took him deeper, riding him faster. He wouldn't last. Not like this.

"F-fuck, Grantaire, I need you, cum for me..."  Enjolras mumbled, reaching between them to jerk himself off.

The sight of him stroking along his length as he rode his cock drove him to the edge. He came with a loud moan, his head tilting back against the bed as he came.

Enjolras followed soon after, cumming with a loud, long moan. He fell back onto his sheets, exhausted.

His cum had landed on his chest, and R reached down, dragging his finger through it before bringing it to his lips and sucking his finger clean.

Enjolras' eyes widened. "Holy shit, Grantaire."

Grantaire looked at him with a small smirk. "I like it."

"That’s disgusting, I don’t care if you like it."  Enjolras stared at him. He rolled over onto his back and pulled his knees up to his chest.

“What… what are you doing?” Grantaire watched him curiously.

“I’m keeping you inside me.” He answered as though that was an entirely normal thing to do. “It makes me feel closer to you.”

“I… My cock was just in… is that not close enough?”

Enjolras shrugged and opened his mouth to say something, but he was starting to be overcome with pixelated marks, slower than last time but still there, still crashing over him like a wave that left him stranded in the lab, modern clothes back on and cold metal where Enjolras’ warm hands had been.

“Welcome back.” Emily said, pulling him out of the machine gently and holding his arm steady while he got used to walking around. “How’d your recon mission go?”

Grantaire, still dazed and so, so aroused, blinked a few times to regain his mind. “I, uh,” He mumbled, then cleared his throat. “It went well.”

“And what did you learn?” Rachel asked from her seat, her PADD at the ready for note taking.

“We’re lovers.” He said, still bewildered. 

Emily drifted to his side and began unstrapping him from the machine very delicately.

“Nothing else?” Rachel’s fingers were still poised over the screen of her PADD, it didn’t appear as though she’d written down anything Grantaire had just said. If anything, she looked passive to the fact.

Grantaire reviewed his time in the dream before shaking his head. “Just that we’re together.”

“And If they ask you any questions that could risk the immersion?” Rachel asked.

“I should assume that my priority, first and foremost, is loving Enjolras. I have no other interests, no other hobbies, until proven otherwise.” Grantaire tugged his shirt back on hastily. “Am I free to go?”

“Sure, you’re free to go.” Rachel waved him off dismissively. “We will see you in two days, same place, same time, as usual.”

He nodded his understanding before making his way home on the cold, wet parisian streets. 

~*~

The next morning, Grantaire’s phone buzzed on the kitchen counter, next to where Robert was sitting while he watched him cook. “Can I look?” He asked, not picking up Grantaire’s phone out of general respect.

“Yeah, Who is it from?” Grantaire barely looked up from his skillet, really only enough to give Robert an approving nod.

Robert swiped his phone open. “It’s just a number, you haven’t listed them as a contact yet.”

“Read it.” Grantaire urged him, flipping the omelette he was working on.

“It says ‘It’s Aleda, the girl with the cats. I have some bad news.’ ... What the hell?” Robert squinted at the phone for a second. “This has got to be a wrong number.”

“Oh shit, I forgot to tell you. I adopted three kittens.” Grantaire said passively, not looking up from his work. He plated the omelette and poured another one into the skillet.

“Shit, really?” Robert stared at him, slack jawed. “Why?”

“I dunno, her cat had babies. She was putting up fliers and I didn’t want them to get split up or anything.”

“Goddammit Grantaire, that soft heart of yours is going to bite you in the ass one day.”

“Just ask her what the bad news is.” Grantaire snapped, focusing mostly on his breakfast masterpiece and not on whatever the hell was going on there.

Robert’s fingers flew over the keyboard of Grantaire’s phone, then hit send and set it down. “Kittens, huh?”

“Yep. Brand new fuzzballs without a care in the world. Should be interesting.”

“Should be.” Robert agreed.

“Oi, you done yet?” Jason asked, coming into the kitchen uninvited from his previous spot, sitting on his ass in the living room with Nick, playing video games and not helping whatsoever with the preparation of breakfast.

“Grantaire’s adopting kittens.” Robert blurted out. “Three of them.”

“Holy shit.” Nick said, careening in behind his best friend. “Really, man?”

“Really.” Grantaire smiled to himself. “They needed to be taken off of her hands, and we have a home that is kitten friendly.” He finally took the last omelette off of the skillet and plated it, then passed them out. 

Jason took his and turned on his heel, marching out of the kitchen and back to his spot in the livingroom. “I don’t like this.”

“You’ll like them, mate.” Robert promised. “Everybody loves kittens.”

“I’m a dog person.” Jason said flippantly, crossing his arms and huddling down into the couch.

“I cannot  _ believe _ this is a conversation I’m actually having.” Nick groaned, sinking into his armchair, both emotionally and physically harrowed. “My best friend doesn’t like kittens.”

“Puppies are great, man, but I don’t do cats.”

“Fuck you.” Nick shot back.

“Woah!” Robert metaphorically stepped between them. “Hey, these kittens are coming. Grantaire already agreed to it. The only debate now should be about names.”

Grantaire nodded, a bit of omelette left out of his mouth, stuck to his bottom lip. “Oh, shit, Robert, didn’t that text say something about bad news?”

“Fuck.” Robert pulled Grantaire’s phone out of his pocket, where he’d tucked it unthinkingly earlier, his brow furrowing after tapping out something into it. “Huh.”

“What is it?” Grantaire sat up, worry edging in behind his eyes.

“I thought I knew your passcode, but alas.” Robert shrugged.

Grantaire snatched it out of his hand and tapped in his passcode before swiping it open. He frowned as he read. “Two kittens.”

“What?” Nick’s attention snapped to him. “Oh god, did one of them die?!”

“What?” Grantaire scoffed, staring at him. “God no, morbid. Her cousin wanted one of them, so she only needs us to take two of them now.”

“Oh.” Robert sighed. “I was on the same track as Nick for a second there. She should really lead with the news and not act like it’s the apocalypse.”

“A cat dying is not the apocalypse.” Jason grumbled, earning himself a smack from Nick.

“Life is precious!” Nick shouted back. “Especially when it’s tiny and fuzzy!”

Grantaire and Robert shared a look before each choosing to roll their eyes individually of one another. 

“Anything you want to do tonight?” Grantaire asked Robert, completely ignoring the fight that other two had gotten into at this point.

“You have an appointment tomorrow, right?”

“Ten in the morning.” Grantaire dug back into his nearly-forgotten breakfast. “So going out tonight might not be the best idea.”

Robert shrugged. “We don’t have to go fucking clubbing. Maybe we can go out to eat, see something out in the city.”

“Would you be willing to hit up the D’orsay?” He asked, mouth full.

“Whatever you want.” Robert said with a shrug.

“Are you sure? That museum takes at least five hours.” 

Robert shook his head suddenly and violently. “Well, no, nevermind then. I’m sorry I asked.” 

“It’s alright.” Grantaire shrugged it off. “Let’s just make some plans for after my next appointment. If we plan ahead enough we could actually get out of the house, maybe see some of the city that’s advertised so damn much.”

“Just keep me posted on your schedule, we’ll set something up.” Robert patted his shoulder before wandering off to his room.

~*~

When Grantaire arrived at the lab the next day, he found that Emily was once again standing in her crescent moon of computers, her entire attention on the work in front of her.

“So, I probably look really stupid when I'm strapped into that thing, don't I?” Grantaire asked, sauntering up to the intern and jarring her out of her focused state.

She quickly shoved her glasses up the bridge of her nose, beaming. “You wanna see?”

“See what? How I look?”

“Exactly! We tape the sessions. For posterity’s sake.”

“For the FDA or whatever?” 

Emily shook her head and shrugged at the same time, which was a very strange Combination of gestures to see. “The French version, but essentially, yes.”

“Can I see one after today’s session?”

Emily’s bright smile faded to something far less genuine. “Uh… I think you have a follow up appointment with your therapist after this.”

“Right. Nevermind, then.”

“Some other time!” She promised, but her voice was weaker than before. 

It was then that Rachel’s clicking heels echoed down the hall, drawing closer and closer until she threw open the door, clipboard in hand. “Are we ready to work?”

Grantaire retreated to his place near the Animus. “I’m ready, as always.” He plastered on a large, fake smile.

“Emily, get him in the machine.” Rachel snipped, practically throwing herself into her plush armchair and crossing her legs sharply. 

“Somebody seems off today.” Emily whispered when she approached Grantaire, strapping him in easily now that they both knew each other well enough to go through this routine… well, routinely. 

“Somebody needs to go back to bed and wake up on the right side this time.”

She chuckled under her breath at that, and Rachel clicked her tongue.

“Can we move faster, please? I have two meetings this morning based around our findings in this session, thank you.”

They worked quickly after that, not speaking to each other or even making eye contact. 

Grantaire closed his eyes this time when Emily injected him, trying to relax into the sensation, not fighting the now slightly more familiar pull of the Animus. 

Rachel and Emily’s voices, now arguing, grew duller and fainter around him as black faded to white, then white faded to a cold, dark, wet Parisian street.

Grantaire was walking along a road lit only by the waning moonlight bouncing off of the wet cobblestone, dressed in the attire that had become typical to him. He slipped slightly on the unfamiliar rocks, but regained his footing quickly.

“Always a damn drunk…” Enjolras’ now familiar, melodic voice grumbled from behind him, but when he turned to look, the other man shoved past him to lead the way with a third gentleman, one of the faces from that first meeting. Grantaire recognized him as the Combeferre fellow that Enjolras liked to bitch to about him.

Neither gentlemen seemed keen to dilly-dally, so he picked up the pace on uneasy legs and caught up to them enough that he was still trailing behind, if only slightly.

Enjolras kept looking over his shoulder, but passed Grantaire, farther back, and upon seeing nothing that he enjoyed, scowled and turned forward once more, picking up the pace

_ What is he doing, looking suspect like that? _

“A few more streets and we’ll have lost anyone following, I’m sure of it.” Combeferre whispered to Enjolras, but loud enough for Grantaire’s benefit. “Then we’ll loop back around to the blacksmith’s.”

Enjolras slunk around the corner of a set of buildings, all crammed together in the lower streets of Paris. It wasn’t hard to lose a tail down here, especially when these buildings had grown from villages into mismatched streets rather than neat grid patterns, leading to side streets that were more like alleyways than actual roads. 

Though losing a tail proved quite easy, especially on a crowded night, it was adversely quite difficult for Grantaire to keep up with his fellows.

“Uh,  _ Cherie? _ ” Grantaire supposed that’s what they would call each other down here, given that he and this Enjolras guy were supposed to be lovers. Apparently is was fine, and Enjolras didn’t respond negatively, well really, he didn’t respond at all. Grantaire jogged to catch up with his stone faced lover. “Where are we off to?”

“He has a good question, Enj. You haven’t spoken a word since we left…” Combeferre added, walking between the two, yet off to the side, brushing people aside as they walked as to make room for himself on a two-person-wide road.

Grantaire reached for Enjolras’ elbow and grasped it gently, attempting to gain his attention.

Enjolras shrugged Grantaire’s hand away, coming to a halt in front of an inconspicuous shop in the center of the rue.

“Enjolras?” Combeferre stopped in his tracks, watching his leader. “Where in god’s name are we?”

“A blacksmith.” Enjolras pushed open the door to the shop and strode through it confidently with a distinct air of entitlement in his aura; he was clearly exuding the idea that he belonged here. “Did you get my letter?” He said by way of announcing himself to the empty, plain wooden room without even opening with a hello.

A gaping doorway to the left of their entrance gave way to the forge at the back: this is where the following voice came from. “Enjolras?” An older, gentle looking man, age in the 40’s at the most, covered in dirt and grime, emerged from said entrance.

“Good to finally meet you.” Enjolras stepped fully into the forge, and the door swinging shut behind him.

“Always good to help a friend of Feuilly.” The blacksmith’s eyes darted between Combeferre and Grantaire, most likely suspicious of their presence. “Speaking of friends…”

“Yes, right, of course, my apologies.” Enjolras stepped aside and gestured to each of his comrades in turn. “Combeferre, my second.”

“And this young man?” The old gentleman nodded at Grantaire.

“His name is Grantaire,” Combeferre said, giving a small bow of his head politely. “He is our fearless leader’s token cynic. Enjolras makes plans and Grantaire tells him that they’re stupid.”

“A cynic?” The blacksmith scoffed, turning his attention to Enjolras. “You would have a Doubting Thomas in your most intimate company?”

Grantaire snorted at that. Doubting Thomas? There was no way he- or rather, his ancestor- could shoot down such a beautiful man on such a regular basis. 

Enjolras hushed him. “Grantaire offers a valued alternate opinion. He allows us to see the opposing side and strengthen my argument.”

Oh. Grantaire tried to hide his bewilderment. So apparently he was supposed to be doing that. He adjusted his stance to look more… doubt-y. He’d try harder to sink into the role in the future.

The blacksmith nodded in understanding. “Alright sirs, alright. Now, do you want to see my product, or shall I hide it from France’s soldiers for another week?”

“I’d like it now, if you will. I have plans that need fulfilling.” Enjolras took the final step into the smoky forge from the clear main room of the shop to collect his prize.

“It’s a genius idea, I’ll give you that,” The blacksmith muttered to himself as he took a hammer from his belt and tapped it against one of the bricks in the wall, a small puff of soot ejecting from the spot he tapped. “A knife hidden in a band strapped to one’s wrist allows for the perfect spot to hide it, as no soldier pats down a right wrist, only the legs and left arm.”

“Why is that?” Grantaire asked. It seemed ridiculous to leave out only one arm.

“Most people are right handed.” The blacksmith explained. “And when one is right handed and wishes to conceal a knife for nefarious purposes, one must balance it in the sleeve of the left arm with the hilt pointing down, so that all one needs to do is reach in, grab, and remove with the right dominant hand. It’s more difficult to do so with a right arm, but the strap system I’ve given it will hold it tight for emergency use. The blade points down instead of up, and there is a system of levers inside that when your leader here pulls a string, the blade should pop out.”

“That is genius.” Grantaire said in awe, watching the man tap the other end of that brick to really loosen it up before pulling it from the wall to reveal a hidden crevice where a linen wrapped package lay.

“Is this how a blacksmith like you keeps business in such an industrial age? Giving favors?” Combeferre asked, gesturing to the small package.

“Is there any other way to stay afloat in such a world?” The blacksmith sighed sarcastically. “If arming school boys to fight a nation is what I must do to stay afloat and make money while also feeling as though I am doing good in the world, than do it I shall.”

“Because a  _ gun _ is what every schoolboy with a hairbrained idea needs.” Grantaire muttered to himself, rolling his eyes.

“Keep your cinic boy quiet, I’m a genius.” The blacksmith unfolded a band of leather, letting a sliver of metal glint in the light from the embers in his forge.

“This goes around the wrist, yes?” Enjolras received it with careful hands. He gestured for Combeferre to come help him.

The blacksmith nodded, watching while Combeferre fastened it around Enjolras’ wrist. “Flick your wrist, that should activate the device.”

Enjolras did, and the blade slid out of its sheath silently, nicking Combeferre’s arm and ruining his shirt with a short slash and a splash of blood. 

Combeferre swore and jumped back.

“Apologies,” Enjolras grunted, not taking his eyes away from his new toy. “Am I allowed to have two?”

“It’ll cost you another 14 francs.”

Enjolras handed over 30 without a word.

“Rich parents.” Combeferre explained with a dismissive shrug.

Grantaire frowned at it, not understanding the exchange rate or how 30 francs was a lot of money in 1832, but honestly it was probably something he should know, given his major and intended work field. 

When Enjolras finally led them out and shut the blacksmith’s door behind them, he wore a pleased smirk.

“Enjolras?” Combeferre asked when he caught up. “You’re in an odd mood.”

Enjolras spun on his heel and gripped his friend by the shoulders. “My armory is complete with the perfect weapon for an assassin of my nature, and each of my men are closer to preparedness than ever before.” He was grinning like a maniac, showing Grantaire a side of himself that he’d never seen, nor expected to see in this slight blond man. “We are closer to our dream than we ever imagined.”

Combeferre’s eyes scanned over Enjolras, checking each of his eyes individually, making sure he was alright. “I thought we were fighting for peace.”

Enjolras didn’t waste a breath of a moment. “Fighting for peace is like fucking virginity.”

Comferre’s eyes widened in sudden realization. His gaze snapped away from Enjolras and he took a step back, then whirled around and jabbed a finger in Grantaire’s direction. “ _ You _ . This started the day he saved you from that guard. This is  _ your _ fault.”

“My fault?” Grantaire blinked at him, confused. Obviously he had no recollection of this, he wasn’t  _ their _ Grantaire. He took a deep breath and ventured a guess at something he might say. “His passion is suddenly my fault? If I’m not mistaken, I’m the one who’s been trying to bring him down to a reasonable level of passion since day one!” 

Combeferre rolled his eyes, pressing closer to him and lowering his voice to a murmur. “He uses  _ your _ words, Grantaire. No matter how much you distance yourself from our cause, how much you claim to not be involved, he will always have your words. Just how greatly your words affect him,” Combeferre took a step back, his upper lip curling venomously. “That’s entirely up to you.”

Before Grantaire had even stopped talking, Grantaire’s sight had begun to blur, Combeferre’s crystalline features blurring and pixelating. The frames of his vision shrunk and shrunk, bits falling away with each passing second.

When he opened his eyes again, he was back in the lab, his eyes damp.

“So.” Rachel said, clearing her throat. “What have we learned?”

“Combeferre… Combeferre, that’s his friend. He… He must hate me or something. He says I tainted Enjolras, that I… I’m the one that made him violent, but when would I have-”

“Ah, yes, well, we must have sent you in out of sequence on accident.” Rachel interrupted him. “It won’t happen again.”

“God, he claimed that I said something to Enjolras to change him, this god awful cliche bullshit about… ‘fighting for peace is like fucking for virginity’.” He wiped his eyes with the back of his hand quickly, wanting to go unnoticed. 

Rachel shot a glance in Emily’s direction, but whether her gaze was apprehensive or curious or whatever, Grantaire couldn’t tell. “We will… analyze the narrative we’ve created and find when that happened. You’ll go into that dream next.”

“Cool, thanks.”

“We’ll make sure everything is in order after that.” She said this more in Emily’s direction, and her pleasant tone was certainly forced.

“...Can I go? I’ve got a ton of studying left, I-”

“Yes, leave.” Rachel rolled her eyes.

~*~

He had a followup appointment with his therapist the following Friday, one to make sure the Animus was working and it wasn’t messing with his brain too much, which was all well and good…

But he didn’t want to go.

He didn’t want to tell this woman anything. She’d pawned him off at the earliest convenience, to some woman who owned a dream machine. Hardly qualified to treat him for night terrors or anything, he thought.

So he stuck to something tame, and made it the most annoying process he could think if for her.

“So, Grantaire, what did you and Ms. Dawes discover when you went under that first Thursday, and the following... what, two appointments?”

“We’ve had three appointments so far, so yes.”

She nodded and smiled softly. “And what’s it like, in the dream machine?”

He sighed and decided to give into her pressing for what happened. “It’s amazing, it’s almost like I  _ belong _ there, in their world.”

“What makes you say that?” His therapist hummed inquisitively.

“I’m not sure…” He shrugged. “It’s only a feeling. But everyone knew me, in there. They knew what I liked, knew my name, my hobbies… when they spoke to me, they were really talking to  _ me _ , not someone I was pretending to be.”

“Perhaps because the dream world they built was built specifically with you in mind.”

“Maybe, yeah, but in my dreams, the ones I have by myself, I feel so out of place, but in these, once I figure out what’s going on in the narrative, I feel welcome, at home.”

“I’m glad it’s working, then. The narrative was very well designed.”

“No, no, you’re not getting it, it’s more than that. It’s… it’s Enjolras.” It was in that moment that his eyes clouded over in a clear indication that his mind was no longer present. “He’s this grand, ethereal thing… It’s almost unreal how perfect he is.”

“What about him makes him perfect?”

“His passion, certainly. Not only has he taken it upon himself to drive an entire country to revolution, he has followers. He’s not just a lonely crazy person, he holds some semblance of power, and it speaks to his leadership and his passion that these people follow him in the first place. He’s also wildly smart, I feel like there’s nothing he doesn’t know. He’s this huge, amazing, intangible thing that no one can compete with.”

“That sounds intimidating. Are you adversaries?”

“God, no.” Grantaire snorted. “No, I… I think I’m in love with him.” 

~*~

Grantaire strode into the lab casually, ready for his next appointment. He was eager to see Enjolras again, to learn more about their history together.

Rachel Duncan’s voice faded in slowly as he walked down the hall, nearing it. Grantaire slowed so that he could listen without being detected, for reasons beyond his understanding. “...What was it he said that The Combeferre fellow said to him?”

There was a stifled snort. “‘Fighting for Peace is like Fucking for Virginity’, something cliche like that.” Emily’s voice responded.

“Search the memory database for that, and be mature. A swear word doesn’t make something funny.” Rachel snapped.

Her demand was followed by some scattered typing, and Emily grumbling: “Fuck that you know.” 

Grantaire saw that as his opportunity to stumble in loudly, making his entrance as noticeably as possibly.

Both women’s heads shot up, backs pin straight. Rachel put on a wide, fake smile.

“Good Morning, Grantaire.” She said through her teeth. “How did you sleep?”

“Great, actually. Thanks for asking.” He began unbuttoning his shirt. “Where am I going in the story today?”

“We’re going back a step or two.” Rachel explained gently. “We’ve gone back to the point Combeferre was referencing in your last dream, and we’re going to give you some context on that mem-” She cleared her throat. “Moment. Pardon me.”

“Cool.” He stripped off his shirt and laid it on the edge of the platform under the Animus. “I was hoping for some context on that one.”

“We’re very sorry about that mix up, I assure you. After today’s session acts as sort of a… bookmark that will set the timeline right, everything will be in chronological order, I promise you.”

Emily nodded to reinforce Rachel’s idea, and approached him. She readied him and the Animus silently and stone faced.

“Are you ready?” Rachel asked when Emily finally stepped away.

Grantaire’s nod was limited by his headpiece, but it wasn’t long before he would be opening his eyes to the rainy moonlit cobblestone streets that he’d grown to love. 

Grantaire woke to his palm smacking against the rough cobblestone of the parisian streets, his arm shaking, struggling to keep his face from hitting the ground, whether from his own weakness, from the cold, or simply because being thrust into his dream world startled him so. 

He took a moment to orient himself. He was in the clothes he usually wore when he appeared in the dreams, fancy nonsense and pants that were strangely loose in places he wasn’t used to, tie- or Cravat, as Enjolras called it- loose around his neck this time and one boot was far, far looser than the other. 

It was odd though, he would think one couldn’t get drunk in a dream, but here he was, feeling light headed with the taste of wine on his lips and his jacket smelling of something even stronger. Perhaps that was why his arm was shaking in the first place, he concluded. This was the most drunk he’d been in ages, and he didn’t like it, didn’t feel in control, couldn’t even hold back the words bubbling up from deep within him.

But he didn’t have the energy to fight it either.

Without thinking, he forced himself up onto his knees and threw his fists in the air.

_ “Vive la Revolution _ !” He cried, a smile breaking out on his face, but, oddly, he wasn’t happy about any of this. None of this was his doing, in fact, but it felt right, felt like this was supposed to happen, that it already had happened, and that it will happen again, exactly like this, in this order.  _ “Mort au Roi! Liberte pour _ -” His shouts of revolution- wherever they may have come from- were cut off by a swift kick to his stomach, and again he was on the ground, this time wheezing and clawing for breath, but still drunk and disoriented. 

“You. Drunk.” The guard speaking, who most likely had delivered the kick, gripped Grantaire’s cravat and drug him into the nearest alley. “What do you think you’re yelling about?”

His mouth was really running away without him now, an avalanche of words he simultaneously meant and didn’t mean, words he had rehearsed a thousand times in his head and was improvising on the spot. “An angel has come down from heaven to avenge the people of Paris who you leave rotting-” His nonsensical, poetic rambling was cut off again with a knee to the same spot as before. “Police brutality!” He screamed, laughed drunkenly through his pain, spit a mouthful of blood onto the cobblestones. Maybe he was worse off than he thought. Maybe he knocked a tooth out earlier in that evening- or rather, in a time before he appeared in the dream. Yes, that made more sense.

“Keep your mouth shut.” The police officer growled. Grantaire turned his face upwards to spew some more ridiculous rhetoric, but before he could speak, a shadowy cloaked figure dropped out of the sky and punched the officer straight in the jaw.

“Enjolras!” Grantaire fought his melting body in order to stand up, the pain in his stomach making him want to wilt again, but the face of his lover encouraged him on. “You’ve saved me!”

“He was right, Grantaire. Keep. Your Mouth. Shut.” The hood of Enjolras’ favorite red jacket was pulled up around his face, blonde curls hanging out and sticking to his sweat slick skin. He stared down at the man he’d attacked, who was now on the ground, still, unmoving, but still breathing. Enjolras’ eyes grew hollow, haunted. “I hurt this man.” He muttered, seeming almost confused as to how this could have happened.

“And if he ever wakes up, he’ll remember our faces and your ‘cause’ will be less than it already is.” He was suddenly sober, all feelings of dizziness gone, but he still could not control his words.  _ Am I telling him to kill this guy? _ He thought, astounded that it would even cross his mind. “As you will be dead.”

“Then I will die a martyr.” The fire in Enjolras’ eyes grew from embers to a flaming desire.

“They would never read your crimes to the public, nor your name. You would die a nameless, faithless, peasant, and you will die without a trial.” Grantaire spat. “However, if you kill him, everyone will know you are serious, and your followers will double. Your deeds will have a chance of becoming a reality.” Grantaire supposed it would be best to play into Enjolras’ ego, as well as his drive for liberty, even if on the inside he didn’t agree with a thing this dream version of himself was saying. “And the people will hear you.”

“I fight for freedom, and peace.”

“Fighting for peace is like fucking for virginity.” Grantaire took Enjolras’ elbow. “One life may be worth both of ours.” With the hand not holding Enjolras’ elbow, and not of his own volition, he drew his own dagger from his waistcoat. “Use this.”

Enjolras took it and pulled away from Grantaire. “Leave me.”

“Enjolras-”

“ _ Leave. _ ” Enjolras growled. “I must do this in solitude. Without your judging eyes.”

“When you’ve decided…” Grantaire squeezed his shoulder and brushed a stray blond hair away from his face where it was stuck with rapidly drying sweat. “I will be waiting at your apartment.”

“Thank you.” Enjolras ground out before the other finally left, all the drunkard banished from his swagger.

The moment Grantaire was out of sight of his dream lover, all of his thoughts and actions returned to his control. He was no longer under the dream’s control, and lucidity returned to him, but his legs guided themselves.

He eventually arrived at Enjolras’ lodging without fully knowing how he found it without knowing the way, and he climbed the stairs to the third floor two by two, his thoughts dragging behind him.  _ What was Enjolras going to do to that man? Was he going to kill him? That seemed the implication, but I hope, for his sake... _

Grantaire sat on the bed that he could only assume was Enjolras’ bed, waiting in the bedroom of his lover patiently, hoping for the best and fearing the worst. He played with his thumbs, wondering why he’d lost control back there, if it was just the drinking in his dream or if there was something else. Maybe it was just another bit of the Animus science that he didn’t understand. 

The door downstairs slammed shut and some very loud, very angry footsteps echoed up the staircase. Grantaire leapt to his feet the second Enjolras entered, an oddly serene look on his face. “Enjolras-”

“It needn’t be said.” Enjolras stopped him with a gesture and a single look.

“What happened?” He wanted to go to him, wanted to comfort him, but he would not challenge that look.

“Grantaire.” The severity of his features bore a strange focus; a yearning for something Grantaire couldn’t quite put his finger on. “I don’t want to talk.”

Enjolras surged forward without any preempt, forcing their lips to meet in a hungry kiss, Grantaire’s palms rubbed along Enjolras’ back, gradually warming it; his hands wandered the panes of his lover’s shoulders, tracing the bumps of his spine and cupping his sharp hipbones.

Enjolras’ hands immediately attacked the ties of Grantaire’s shirt, tearing it halfway open before halting, his fingers finding the course black curls on Grantaire’s chest. It distracted him from whatever fervor he’d been experience moments before. “I…” Enjolras brushed a hand down Grantaire’s chest, fingers combing out curled, brusque, tangled hairs. “Wow. Does it go… All the way down?”

Grantaire chuckled lightly. “Some parts are hairy.“ He shrugged, looking down at himself. “Some are not.”

“I’d like to see how far it goes.” Enjolras said softly, biting his bottom lip nervously.

Grantaire nodded and, shirt still hanging open around his shoulders, reached for the drawstrings of his trousers. 

“No.” Enjolras said quickly, staying Grantaire’s hand with only his voice. “Wait. I want to do this myself.”

Grantaire stood still, afraid to move for fear of Enjolras stopping.

Enjolras sunk to his knees, taking Grantaire’s exposed half-hard cock into his mouth gently and cautiously, exploring the sensitive skin with his tongue. 

Grantaire gasped and his hand twitched, dying to card his fingers through Enjolras’ soft hair, still damp from sweat. But he didn’t want to startle him, and most definitely didn’t want him to stop. 

It only took a few minutes for Grantaire to break. “Enj, please-”

“Hm?” Enjolras hummed and pulled away from Grantaire with an awkward slurping sound. “Did I do something wrong?”

“No, no, I… I just…” Grantaire tugged at his arm, pressing their lips together when Enjolras rose to his feet. 

“Need me?” Enjolras asked, a smile quirking the corners of his lips. “I want you too, Grantaire. I want you now.”

Grantaire turned them around with a hand on Enjolras’ waist, gesturing for Enjolras to mount his bed before they could continue.

“Grantaire, I want to be very clear.” Enjolras said suddenly, his voice entirely neutral. “I know we haven’t done this before-”

“We haven’t?” Grantaire asked, confused. He distinctly remembered them having done this before, unless… that dream was somewhere chronologically in this narrative  _ after  _ this moment. Yes, that made sense. He would certainly have to ask Rachel about that, and to ask her to start putting these in order so he looked like less of a crazy fool. “I mean, right, we haven’t.”

Enjolras seemed to ignore his blunder. “I’ve been preparing for this moment, because this is something that I want for us. I want to take this step with you, R.” Enjolras cleared his throat nervously. “There’s some oil in my bedside table, it’s been there for a few weeks. I just… I’m never sure of the right moment, and we’re usually at your place…”

By this point, Enjolras had slid up the bed as far as he could, giving Grantaire plenty of room to crawl up on top of him, fingers already slick with oil (He remembered it from his first encounter with Enjolras), and kiss him quiet, kiss him silly, kiss him in all the ways he needed to be kissed to reassure him that he was in capable hands. 

“So you’re sure you want this… now. In this moment.” Grantaire asked. Enjolras had just killed a man, it seemed like a dramatic, borderline psychotic shift to suddenly want to bang.

“Yes, of course Grantaire. I love you.”

Grantaire smiled, his voice adopting a teasing edge. “But  _ Enjolras _ , are you-”

“Grantaire, I swear, if you ask me again I will end you.” Enjolras growled playfully, rolling his eyes. “Were you not listening to the speech from my heart that I just gave you? I want this, I’m absolutely sure. I want you.”

Grantaire nodded his understanding and gradually began working his first finger into Enjolras’ entrance. Enjolras stayed calm, breathed deeply and was clearly trying to relax all of his muscles until Grantaire brushed something inside him, and he cried out in surprise and pleasure, his ass tightening around Grantaire’s finger.

“Ah, fuck!” Enjolras gasped as Grantaire began to slide his finger slowly out and back in again. He was trembling, deep shudders and small breathy sounds wracking his frame and sending heat straight to Grantaire’s cock. He looked about to collapse; Grantaire wrapped his brawny, solid arm around Enjolras’s waist, drawing their chests together as his finger continued to work in and out of Enjolras’ body. He’s so unbelievably tight, and so hot; the heat of him around just Grantaire’s finger was unbelievable, and he had to bite down hard on his lip as he thought about that same heat around his cock, squeezing and clenching. Enjolras groaned suddenly, twisting in Grantaire’s grip.

“Enj? Are you okay? Do you need me to stop?” Grantaire asked quickly, finger already starting to slide out.

“No!” Enjolras  demanded, pushing back onto Grantaire’s finger in a carnal, frantic thrust. “No no no, right there, right there, that feels...  _ so good,  _ Grantaire, so good.”

Grantaire took a deep, calming breath and marveled distantly at his sheer luck at being able to hold this man in his arms – this beautiful, insane, absolute wreck of a man – and make him feel so spectacular he couldn’t speak in full sentences. His cock twitched at the realization that Enjolras’ body was practically shaking with the need to be spread wide and fucked deep by Grantaire. Grantaire, whose life seemed so hollow and fake and meaningless only a few short days ago, when he walked into Rachel Duncan’s lab and strapped himself to this machine. It’s  _ Grantaire _ that Enjolras is laying here with,  _ Grantaire’s _ neck that Enjolras was kissing then, small, breathy kisses giving away his arousal and lack of patience.  _ Grantaire  _ who gets to be the one to watch Enjolras fall to pieces, to his assumption, for the first time. (There’s no way Grantaire could know if this is Enjolras’ first time  _ ever, _ but as he is technically a figment of his imagination, it’s safe to say it is.)

Unsteadily, Grantaire removed his arm from under Enjolras’ waist and his finger from Enjolras’ entrance and replaced it with two, eliciting a wail of desperation from the trembling man beneath him.

“Ahh!” Enjolras arched up to Grantaire’s touch as he stroked deep inside. “Oh, fuck – ah! – just like that. Unhh.”  

“I’m doing alright, then?” Grantaire’s voice sounded unsteady and not at all sensual, like he wanted it to be. It felt as though he was holding all of Enjolras in his arms, like he could touch every part of him at once, make every inch of Enjolras his. Grantaire increased his speed, stretching Enjolras wide as he thrust his fingers faster and harder. Enjolras groaned.

“Y-Yes, of course you are. You’re probably much more experienced at this than-” Enjolras’ words were cut off and he grunted in surprise when Grantaire worked a third finger inside. Enjolras’ arms gave way, and he landed roughly on Grantaire’s pillow as Grantaire’s fingers pounded into him. It took a moment for Grantaire to realize that Enjolras was speaking again.

“N-need you.” The words were barely audible and wracked with desperation. Grantaire’s pace slowed, and Enjolras raised his head slightly, breath fractured and sounding as though he is about to shatter, lips brushing Grantaire’s ear. “Please, Grantaire. I need your cock inside me.  _ Right. Now. _ ”

“Of course,” He heard himself say, an air of desperation in his voice. He pulled his fingers from Enjolras’ tight ass. Enjolras whined as he had before, long and low, but remained in his position.

Grantaire finagled himself into the proper position over Enjolras – trembling Enjolras, beautiful Enjolras, normally-prim-and-proper Enjolras – and guided his cock in roughly.

Enjolras screamed – actually physically cried out with pleasure as Grantaire filled him up, and the sensation of Enjolras squeezing around his cock, slicked up and hot and wanting and willing, was so unbelievably amazing. Enjolras was panting harshly. Grantaire took a moment to let them both adjust, then laid his palm against the cold stone wall for balance and set a hard, fast pace.

“‘Taire!” Enjolras gasped, his voice catching. He bucked back into Grantaire's thrusts as best he could, but the angle was awkward and he couldn’t do much. It became frenzied; heated and breathy and the slap of skin against skin filling the room. There was a bright heat building at the base of Grantaire’s spine, letting him know he was growing close.

Grantaire reached one hand down and stroked Enjolras’ cock once, twice, and Enjolras was gone, grunting aloud as he came over Grantaire’s hand. The sensation of Enjolras clenching around him was enough to send him over and Grantaire followed, vision whiting out as liquid pleasure exploded behind his eyelids and every one of his nerve endings sings.

Grantaire came back to himself a few moments later, breath coming in harsh, shuddering breaths. Beneath him, Enjolras had gone limp – as though every muscle in his body had decided to fall asleep all at once. Grantaire’s hands were still clamped too-tightly around Enjolras’s hip and cock. When he let go, Enjolras gasped – and when Grantaire slowly, slowly pulled out, Enjolras lets out a soft, high sigh.

He fell onto his back beside Enjolras, still in shock from the mind-blowing orgasm – as well as the fact that he has just had sex with Enjolras  _ again _ with only slightly more preempt than the first time. He let out a long, shaky sigh.

As though summoned, Enjolras rolled onto Grantaire’s chest, tucking his head into the crook of Grantaire’s shoulder and throwing a thin, pale arm across Grantaire’s broad, dark chest. Grantaire pulled him close, Enjolras feeling so soft and non-threatening against him it was physically shocking that something he knew was imaginary felt so… so real.

“Are you alright, Enjolras?” Grantaire looked down at Enjolras’s curled up form along his side, anxious concern welling within him. “Fuck, I didn’t get too rough for you, did I? You just seemed –”

Enjolras shook his head silently, smiling dazedly up at the ceiling.

“Are you okay?” Grantaire repeated breathlessly.

He had never looked so utterly content. “I’m absolutely wonderful.” Enjolras assured him, pressing their lips together. “I couldn’t imagine it any other way.”

“You’ve imagined this?” Grantaire asked skeptically, raising an eyebrow. “I didn’t take you as one for vivid sex fantasies.”

“I only thought about it a few moments before I walked in the door.” Enjolras assured him. “This was quite rash, on my part.”

“Undoubtedly, rash, but by no means ill advised.” Grantaire snorted. “And now I suppose you must take your leave of me? Sneak out of your own room so no one knows? Or, better yet, make us leave at different times?”

“The Last option should do. Can’t be raising any eyebrows, now can we?” Enjolras slipped out of bed at that moment, rummaging around the mess he and Grantaire had made in his room in search of his trousers. “Tomorrow, Grantaire. I’ll see you at our rally?”

Grantaire nodded non-committally, watching Enjolras’ barely clad body leave his apartment without much further ado.

He rubbed his eyes and the room began to blur, and before he knew it, he was back in the lab, Emily already unfastening the hooks and clips that held him into the Animus.

“How was it?” Rachel asked from her seat, PADD in hand and ready to take notes, as always. “Learn anything?”

“Enjolras is pretty hardcore.” Grantaire said, taking Emily’s hand for balance as he stepped down from the soap box they’d used. “I’m lucky I can keep up with him. This is a pretty intense narrative you guys have thought up.”

“Anything else happen?” She asked, not bothering to write anything down yet.

“Actually, yeah. It was weird, when I first got in there, it was like I wasn’t lucid dreaming anymore, like, I couldn’t control what was going on in the dream.”

“For the entire dream? Perhaps there was something wrong with the calibration…”

“No, no for just the first part. When Enjolras… well, he killed a man. It was totally weird, totally changed his perspective on shit, like a switch being flipped.”

“Interesting.” Rachel hummed. “That’s very interesting, Grantaire. We’ll make note of it and make sure it doesn’t happen again, but if it does, take very careful note of your surroundings. We need to know every little bit of the story, alright? That way we can figure out where you are in our narrative and we can find the snag.”

“I understand.” He nodded.

“That being said, this isn’t entirely out of sorts, and we do have a prescription that will help make the transition into the Animus easier. It should also help you sleep on the nights that you aren’t being exposed to the Animus.” She scribbled something down on a prescription pad taken from the inside of her jacket pocket. “Here.” She tore it off and handed it over. “Take one tablet before you go to bed, it should help you sleep.”

“Thanks, this is… pretty awesome.” He smiled down at it absently. “Uh, I’ve got to go, get some studying done. Midterms week is next week.”

“I don’t care.” Rachel gave him a tight smile before standing and sauntering away.

“Good luck on your Midterms, R.” Emily grinned

~*~

In the eyes of a kitten, four grad students all huddling around their tiny basket probably just looked like a bunch of faceless giants, or perhaps tree ents. (But that notion was ridiculous. Cats don’t watch the  _ Lord Of The Rings.) _

Both images seemed mildly intimidating to Grantaire, but the kittens didn’t seem harrowed in the slightest. 

The grey sleek one meowed loudly, as loudly as his tiny body could handle. I mean, look at him. His body was shaking with the effort of sharing how he felt. 

“Alright, okay, duly noted.” Robert responded to him, ever the polite one. 

“Do you have names picked out?” Aleda asked, handing the fluffier, quieter kitten to Grantaire carefully, making sure he could handle holding something the size of a single one of his hands.

“This one should be called… Flufflepuff.” Grantaire determined, stroking the fluff on the tiny kitten’s head. It meowed, most likely in protest of being so high up, away from anything solid. 

“Nice Harry Potter reference.” Aleda nodded her approval.

Jason scooped up the second kitten, the loud one. “Fuzz Lightyear. Called it.”

She rolled her eyes and Robert gave a noise of discontented disapproval. “No way. That’s a stupid name!”

“You’re not going to be able to think of anything better and you know it!” Jason shot back.

“I’m glad they’re going to a good home, to people who care about giving cats stupid names.” Aleda said with a resigned shrug.

“Hurtful.” Grantaire frowned, feigning sadness. “Thank you though.”

“Thank you guys. I can’t very well keep them, so I’m glad we found each other.”

Aleda didn’t stay for tea. Her english wasn’t as good as theirs, and their French, collectively, wasn’t nearly good enough to keep her entertained, so though communication was possible between the five of them, Grantaire’s connection with her wasn’t strong enough or motivated enough to struggle through the language barrier.

(Not for lack of trying. Nick asked if she’d like to stay for tea, but that line of conversation ended when she mentioned not wanting to spoil her appetite for dinner, and Nick didn’t have the vocabulary to actually explain what tea was. Jason iced her after that.)

The four of them, now alone with the kittens, spent the next hour on the floor, corralling the two kittens away from anything that might be harmful to them while the new tiny furry roommates explored their new environment with curious eyes and overworked noses.

~*~

He strode into the lab with a smile, having gotten a very good night’s sleep after being exposed to the Animus  _ and _ having copious amounts of love from the new kittens. There was something to be said for the effects of animals on the damaged mind.

“Hello!” He greeted Rachel and Emily cheerfully after crashing through the metal double doors. “And how are you ladies today?”

“Neither good nor bad.” Emily responded with equal cheer. “Pretty normal day, so far.”

“Enough small talk, both of you.” Rachel snapped, forever in a mood. “Are you ready?”

“Always.” Grantaire grinned, tugging his shirt off over his head. “I love this slice-of-life period comedy you’ve got me in, it’s so… enveloping, I can hardly stand it.”

“Yes, yes, very inclusive or whatever.” Rachel waved him off. “Just get in the machine, we have work to do.”

“Why are we in a rush?” Grantaire asked as he stepped into his place and Emily began strapping him in and attaching electrodes. 

“I’d like to see if we can do this twice in one day, thank you.” Rachel perched on her elegant, plush brocade chair. “And seeing as these sessions take quite a bit of time, I’d like to trim enough fat so that you aren’t returning home at the very wee hour of dawn.”

“Huh.” Grantaire nearly balked at her, but he stayed polite. “Well, that’s uh… surprisingly considerate of you, Rach-”

He didn’t even get to finish his sentence. Grantaire blinked and the lab was gone, instead he was in victorian dress, if slightly more casual than normal, shirt unfastened at the top and loose with the lack of a vest, so loose and so open that his chest hair was prominently displayed and rustling in the breeze from a nearby open window. 

Before him was a blank canvas and a set of already prepared oils, the canvas propped up against a large easel.

“Damn…” He muttered under his breath. “That was fast.”

“Grantaire,” Combeferre’s voice jarred him from his ritualistic placement of his surroundings, and his head snapped around to face the ashy blond man, who was leaning into his room but not fully entering. “Cosette is here. She’s asking for you.”

“Who?” He asked groggily, then cleared his throat. “Sorry, who?”

“Marius’ lady love. She’s here. She says you’re going to paint a portrait of her.”

Grantaire looked back at the materials gathered before him. “Yes, that’s a reasonable explanation.”

“What?”

“Nothing, nothing. Send her up, please. I’m ready.” He gestured vaguely to distract from his blunder. 

Combeferre shrugged and made his exit, and Grantaire was alone in his own quarters for the first time. 

It was a small space, more of a room with a bathroom off to the side than anything else, but it oddly felt like home in a way that Grantaire couldn’t explain.

He looked up from his contemplative staring around the room when a woman walked in, head held high and wearing a calm smile that grew into a grin when she saw Grantaire. “Oh, Grantaire, it’s so good to see you!” She bent to hug him tightly, which he returned with only the slightest bit of unease. “Did you keep all those dresses that I gave you?”

Grantaire shrugged. “They are wherever you left them.” He said flippantly, hoping she would do the heavy lifting for him.

He lucked out. “Under the bed, then! Excellent.” She knelt to drag a trunk out from under his bed. She then stripped off her outer layer of clothing, leaving herself in a chemise tucked into a corset, a sheer and gentle one, for daily wear. He was sure it had some sort of name that was made to befuddle him, specifically, but now was not the time for that. 

He glanced at her and his eyes widened slightly, but other than that he gave no notion that he was even paying attention to her.

“What, no comment about my state of undress?” She pursed her lips in a coy smile. 

_ You’re still more covered up than most of modern day society in the summer time _ . He thought, but did not say, as not to break synchronization. “I am… impartial to women’s bodies.”

She laughed and nodded emphatically. “Right, right. I forget that you and Enjolras are quite enamoured with one another.”

“Quite.” Grantaire sighed, watching her step out of the pile of her dress on the floor.

“What would you like me in?” She asked, gesturing to the trunk she had apparently left here.

“Something blue.” Grantaire replied automatically, laying out his paint set and fiddling with it to kill time. “Robin’s egg blue, specifically, if you have it.” Yes, Cosette would look quite stunning in that. 

She sifted through her chest of drawers while he pretended to have more to do than just set up his easel and paint sets.

“Grantaire,” She cooed after stepping into her skirt and tugging it up around her waist, tightening it with a hidden string or two. “You do not even  _ try _ to catch a glimpse of me.”

“I respect my friend Marius, and his lady love. I would not do either of my friends a dishonour.” He said, watching her out of the corner of his eye as she tugged on a high-necked shirt that she then hooked to her skirt somehow, completing the illusion of wearing a full dress; something that both bewildered and amazed Grantaire.

“It is not a question of your dishonour.” Cosette peeked her head over his easel. “Merely a statement wondering about the rumor that you have something of a sinful nature when it comes to our leader-”

“You know for a fact that I love him.”

“-And also the conflicting rumour that a wife may be in the picture.”

Grantaire’s head snapped up. “Enjolras has a wife?!”

Cosette tsked. “Of course not! But I’ve heard from some  _ very reputable sources _ that would  _ never lie to me _ that you have one.”

Grantaire blinked at her. Then it must be true! But he couldn’t see himself marry someone and then go cheat on her with the most perfect man in the universe. And usually the dream would give him some sort of feeling if something was right, despite his personal feelings. “Had.” He said instinctively, and that seemed like the right thing to say. “I am not an adulterer.”

“Oh.” Cosette quieted. “Has she passed on, then?”

Not knowing what else do do, as the answer was a mystery to him, Grantaire glared up at her. “Perhaps you should sit by the window. The best light may be found there.”

“Of course.” She responded softly, drifting over to the window as per his instructions. “So, am I too quick to assume that you admit that you have no… carnal desires... for the ladies of France?”

“Cosette.” His voice held a warning tone, but one that was gentle and less than unassuming. “Why must you continue to push this?”

She shook her head quickly, not wanting to deter him. “I think you two would be a marvelous pair.” She assured him.

Grantaire glared at her. “Don’t mock me. You know we are ill matched at best.”

“Mock you? How do I mock you?” She gaped at him, looking genuinely scandalized. “I don’t mean to offend you. And you two are not ill matched. Perhaps before, but I did not know you two before. I only know you now, and I know that it is a very favorable match indeed.”

“By the window, please.” Grantaire ordered in a grumble, subtly reminding her what she was here for in the first place. Cosette complied, arranging her dress until it was up to par with her idea of perfection. It looked no different to Grantaire, perhaps a bit puffier in the back, but he didn’t take much note of it before, so how could he spot any change?

The two sat in silence for a decent chunk of time while Grantaire painted, bottom lip caught between his teeth. Anything anyone said about time passing quickly in dreams was unabashedly wrong.

“I find it sweet, the affinity you hold for him.” Cosette finally said something in her soft, delicate voice. “The intent behind my line of questioning earlier was merely to see if he felt the same for you.”

Grantaire sighed, rolling his eyes at the cordiality of her phrasing. This Cosette woman was clearly an angel, he was sure. “We’ve been lovers for some time now.” any glances away from his painting were purely on business, to observe the subject and for nothing more. “Enjolras says that he shares my passion, but I have a hard time believing it some days. I do quite believe I’m far more passionate about him than he is of me.”

Cosette smiled brilliantly, her head tilting to the side and causing a few stray curls to fall from their pins and frame her face. “I hoped your longing gazes at one another were being satisfied somehow.”

Grantaire smirked. “I like to think I keep him very satisfied.”

“He’s clearly quite enamoured with you as well.” She assured him. “I would be worried about his passions.”

“I’ll keep that close to my heart, thank you.” Grantaire said absently. 

“You two haven’t been together very long, have you?”

Grantaire shook his head. “It depends on how you classify being together.”

“That’s a good point. Well, you’ve been flirting around for  _ years _ , but, to my knowledge, you only started kissing in front of the group a few months ago, actually proving that you were together for all of us.”

“Only very shortly after we actually got together, I’d guess. Don’t worry, you weren’t in the dark for long.” Grantaire assured her. They sat in comfortable silence for a few moment while he painted… and stewed in his own ignorance of this man who he was supposed to be in love with. It was time to start asking questions-- subtly, of course.

“Cosette, uh, has Enjolras… has he changed since we started dati- uh, since we began our relationship?”

She shrugged, but other than that, remained motionless. This, Grantaire appreciated, as he was still painting, not even pausing in his strokes to talk but instead conversing through it.

“I would say that he’s calmed down significantly.”

“Really? What makes you think that?”

“This is all according to Marius, mind you, but he used to give these speeches… they were endless and almost always ended with someone being called a name or something being thrown. He was high strung and temperamental. But the longer you spent with him, the more he focused on ways to make peaceful protests instead of the battle plans he was making earlier, make compromises instead of insisting that things should go his way, or face the aforementioned plans.”

“Wow.” Grantaire said on his breath, amazed that this man hadn’t just made an impact on his life, but he had done the same in return. “Cosette, do you… do you think he loves me?”

Grantaire rubbed his eyes. She was a little fuzzy around the edges.

She stared at him as though he was stupid. “Enjolras is complicated.”

Grantaire rubbed his eyes again, but she didn’t get any clearer. If anything, she was blurring more and more drastically by the minute, and he couldn’t hear her anymore, she was saying something, but it sounded like he was hearing her from under water. 

“No, fuck, No!” He tried to reach out for her, his paintbrush and palette now disappeared from his hands, but she was long gone.

The lab faded into focus and he gasped at the force of it. His head ached and his eyes burned like he was waking up from a hangover. 

“Shit…” He gasped. 

“We need to ease him out, Rachel!” Emily snapped, smacking the other woman’s hand away from the control panel. “You can’t rush this, you’ll hurt him!”

“I’m… I’m okay.” Grantaire managed to say weakly.

“He’s still got the gamma-aminobutyric acid in his system, for god’s sake!” 

“We need to move on!” Rachel growled back.

“Go get some coffee or a glass of wine.” Emily’s forceful tone embodied itself in her pointed shove to Rachel’s back. “Go take a break, give him a half hour and we’ll go again. But if I see you in here before then I swear to god I will leave this lab and you in the dust.”

Rachel snarled at her, but marched off anyway, slamming the front door behind her.

Emily rushed to Grantaire’s side and unstrapped him slowly and gently. “I’m so sorry. She doesn’t seem to remember the  _ human _ part of the title  _ human test subject. _ ” 

“It’s fine.” He managed, leaning on her heavily. “Thanks for lobbying to get a break for me.”

“You need it. Rush science and you get crappy results.” Emily helped him to Rachel’s chair and sat him down on it. “Can you wiggle your toes?”

He wiggled them dramatically and gave her a proud smile. “That good?”

“Hard part’s over.” She returned his smile. “How do you feel?”

“Like I’m hung over after a six hour work out.” 

“Are you?”

He shook his head ruefully. “Haven’t had a drink in… five years?”

“Congratulations.” She pat his knee and kneeled in front of him. “Can I ask you a few questions about your experience this time?”

“Everything was normal, except for the whole ‘getting yanked out early’ thing. That was a weird experience.”

“Understandable.” She jotted it down. “Alright… What happened?”

“I… I painted the girlfriend of my lover’s best friend.” He said, slowly regaining control over his extremities. “She said I had a kid, which is weird, because I’m pretty sure I’m not married. Am I married in the story?”

Emily shrugged. “I didn’t write it, I just coded it.”

“C-can that be my second session today? Take me somewhere that I can talk to Enjolras about it. He’s gotta know.”

“I can do that.” Emily agreed. “I, uh, ordered take away for lunch, but I can never eat an entire helping by myself. Would you want some?”

Grantaire stared at her, bewildered. “Yeah, that’d be really great.”

~*~

When Rachel returned, she found her counterparts practically picnicking on the lab floor.  

“I totally get it, grad school is fucking crazy.” Emily was saying, sipping a Monster and stabbing her chopsticks back into her bowl. 

“Maybe for kids like Jason and Nick, they think it’s still about partying and girls. It’s like they still haven’t grown out of the teenage perception of what university is supposed to be like.”

Rachel cleared her throat, drawing their panicked attention. “It seems like you two haven’t grown out of your gossiping phase either.”

Both sets of startled eyes snapped to her, their owners freezing, as if not moving would somehow make them invisible. 

“Rachel, we-” Emily tried, But Rachel’s cold stare shut her up quite effectively.

“Let’s get to work.” 

Emily and Grantaire separated and the latter stretched before bounding back up onto the platform.

“We’re going to go somewhere that he can ask about his kid.”

“Oh?” Rachel cocked an eyebrow and settled on her perch. “A child?”

“Yeah, the woman I was with in the last dream, Cosette, she said I had a kid, so I’m going to ask Enjolras about it. Does that mess with your plan?”

Rachel shook her head. “Feel free, I’d love to know as well.” She nodded to Emily, indicating that she should start up the machine. 

He felt it before he saw it, that feeling of falling into the abyss of the dream world. God, it felt good.

When he woke he was back in Victorian Paris, sitting at a table in the bar they, as a group, frequented. 

“Where is he?” He asked the closest man to him, still rubbing the digital burn out of his eyes.

“Where is who?” The man put down his tankard and peered at Grantaire curiously.

“Enjolras, where is Enjolras?” He stood and wobbled, but refused to sit down again. 

“He went upstairs, I can only assume he’s in your room.” The man shrugged.

Grantaire darted up the steps then, not sure of how much time he had left. Emily wouldn’t want to keep him in here for long, so he needed answers, and fast.

He swung open the door to find Enjolras standing by his desk, holding a canvas and staring at it with a look of shock on his face.

“Grantaire.” Enjolras’ voice was almost pleading. 

He shut the door behind himself with a soft click, peering at the blond in his room. “Yes?”

“What is this?” His voice sounded hurt; and it drew Grantaire’s attention. Surely the questions about his kid could wait, for a broken voice like that.

Enjolras held up what looked like Grantaire’s self-portrait. It was ugly, really, with a bulbous nose and wild hair, eyes that were too close together and a downturned mouth. The skin was lighter than his own, though, the hair less thick. The resemblance was uncanny, but Grantaire had spent enough time in art school, painting his own self portrait, that he knew what he looked like, and this wasn’t quite that.

“That is a self portrait, obviously.” He started to unbutton his vest casually; it was choking him. "I painted that a while ago, I wouldn’t worry about it. Self portraits are a common practice for artists like me." He kept his tone casual, but Enjolras still looked shaken for some reason. 

"Do you mean to say you think you look like this?" Enjolras' eyebrows furrowed, his nose crinkled in horror or disgust, Grantaire wasn’t sure which. He darted past him and slammed the canvas down on the desk.

"Enjolras? What are you doing?!" Grantaire dashed after him, coming to a stunned halt behind him. "What... Enjolras!"

The other man had taken one of the oil pastels scattered about and was scribbling in bright yellow. "You," Enjolras growled as he bat Grantaire's hands away. "Are beautiful. Whether you like it or not."

Grantaire squinted at his self portrait, reading what Enjolras' cramped handwriting.

_ 'Jolie' _ was written sideways, up his nose,  _ 'Beaux' _ on his eyes. ' _ J'adore jouer avec tes cheveux _ .' Stood out against pitch black ringlets of his hair.

“Remind me to hide the pastels when you’re around.” Grantaire grumbled.

Enjolras had also drawn a yellow, upturned line over his mouth, accompanied with the phrase 'souriez plus'.

"This is how you see me?" Grantaire brushed the edge of the canvas with his outstretched hand, but he couldn’t muster up the courage to hold it.

"You are beautiful." Enjolras tossed the painting aside, causing Grantaire to flinch. No one should treat art so harshly. " _ Je-t-adore _ , Grantaire." Enjolras took both of his hands and kissed them each in turn. "I love you."

Grantaire said nothing until Enjolras tugged him close and pecked his lips softly. "I love you too.” He accepted another kiss. “But I have to ask you something.”

“Yes?” Enjolras barely pulled away to answer.

Grantaire took a step back as to not get distracted. He was on a very limited time table. “I was with Cosette the other day, uh, painting her portrait, and she mentioned something very strange to me.”

Enjolras’ eyebrow quirked up. “Oh? And what was that?”

“She said… she said that I had a child.”

Curiously enough, Enjolras sighed and pulled away, a defeated look on his face. “I was going to tell you when you were in your right mind…”

“I’m in my right mind right now, Enjolras, tell me.”

He paced for a bit, hands clenching and unclenching. “A few weeks ago… I received a letter. It had been passed around from person to person, trying to find you, and when it came to me… Grantaire, I couldn’t help myself.”

Grantaire shook his head, confused. “Are you trying to tell me you read my letter?”

Enjolras nodded, the guilt weighing his head down. “I did. I’m so sorry Grantaire, but I had to know what was so important to find you without having an address.”

“And so you opened it and read it? With Cosette?”

“She wasn’t there, I swear! Marius was, he must have told her…” Enjolras trailed off, drawing an envelope from inside of his jacket.

Grantaire stared at it in shock. “I… Is that the letter?” Enjolras nodded. “And you’ve just been carrying it around with you this whole time?”

“As I said, I was waiting for the right time to present itself, when you weren’t slobbering drunk.”

Grantaire surged forward, snatching the letter from Enjolras’ hands and tearing it open again. He skimmed the letter quickly. “So it’s true? I have a child?”

“That’s your  _ wife’s _ claim.” Enjolras’ eyes had hardened, his arms crossed. 

“My  _ wife _ …” Grantaire murmured to himself in shock. His knees were weak, and he found himself drifting towards his bed, if only for a place to sit.

“A wife you  _ left _ to have a sordid love affair with another man.” His voice was cold as ice, and unrelenting.

“I had to leave her, Enjolras.” Grantaire said, his stomach twisting at the unsurety of this string of lies, not out of actively wanting to deceive Enjolras, but out of necessity; He honestly had no idea what went down between himself and his so called ‘wife’. “And I didn’t just have a sordid affair, I fell in love with you.”

Apparently Enjolras was deciding to miss that last comment. “It’s 1831, Grantaire! You can’t just leave a woman and child starving in the streets!”

Grantaire frowned. Shit. Enjolras was right. Society isn’t progressed enough to help her out, and if anything she’s worse off without him, regardless of his general level of asshole. Whether this woman wanted him with her or not didn’t matter. She needed him. “You’re right.” He sighed, running a hand through his busy black curls. “You’re right, I have to help her. More importantly, I have to help my child.”

“Of course you do.” Enjolras said, crossing his arms, letter subsequently tucked under his arm.

“She can’t live with us though.” Grantaire insisted. “If she lives with us she’ll know about  _ us _ , about our relationship. We aren’t exactly condoned under the law or the church.”

“So, what then? What is your plan of action, Grantaire? How do you plan on supporting her? By  _ her _ of course I mean your  _ child _ , your  _ daughter _ .”

Grantaire snapped his fingers together and beamed the moment an idea struck him. “Child support!”

“That’s what I’m suggesting.” Enjolras frowned at him like he was the dumbest thing to walk the earth. “Do you shut off your ears when I open my mouth, or-”

“No, Enjolras,  _ mon dieu _ , quit being so dramatic.” Grantaire rolled his eyes. “Child Support is more specific where I come- uh, where I’m concerned.” He explained, standing to forcibly but gently unfold Enjolras’ arms so he could hold both of his hands. “I can send her money monthly to help support the child, but I don’t ever have to face that woman again. If she ever needs me to care for our child, I will, but never alongside her.”

Enjolras nodded, shrugging with reluctant compliance. “It’s a reasonable plan. I can’t imagine her saying no, unless she wants you back for more than help financially or with raising your child.”

“Are you suggesting she’s actually in love with me?” Grantaire balked.

“It’s not the first time a bastard has brought two people back together.” Enjolras huffed.

“And now you’re insinuating this kid isn’t mine!?” He dropped Enjolras’ hands, inexplicable anger washing over him. “What makes you doubt her so?”

Enjolras shrugged again, dropping the letter on Grantaire’s desk flippantly. “It doesn’t matter to me whether she’s a bastard or not.” He spun on his heels back to face Grantaire, but instead of anger in his features, like he expected to find, Grantaire only saw hurt and fear. “All that matters to me is you. I… I can’t have you leave me for this woman. Support her child, that is a must, but I can’t… I can’t live without you.”

Enjolras cupped Grantaire’s cheeks, but it wasn’t his usual touch. It was barely a touch at all. His mouth moved as he continued to speak, but no sounds came out.

“What?” Grantaire tilted his head curiously.

Enjolras spoke again, but still nothing came out. 

It wasn’t a few moments later that everything disappeared at once and Grantaire was standing in the pure white emptiness of The Animus.

The lab followed shortly after, with Rachel and Emily staring at him expectantly while he came out of his haze.

“Well?” Rachel asked impatiently while Emily detached him from the machine. “Anything about the kid?”

Grantaire nodded. “Apparently I left my wife early on in her pregnancy. Enjolras doubts that the kid is even legitimately mine, but he still feels like I need to support her.”

“‘Her’?” Rachel perked. “He- you had a daughter?”

Grantaire nodded. “And I agreed to do some sort of child support, although something tells me it hasn’t been invented yet.”

Emily and Rachel shared an undecodable look. “Interesting.” Rachel mused, shutting her padd with a level of veracity that seemed unwarranted. 

“So, when can I come back?” He asked while tugging his shirt back on.

“Next month.” Rachel answered simply, packing up her things coldly. “We-- that is, Emily and I-- have several meetings with investors over the next few weeks, we simply don’t have time to sit here for hours and watch you dream.”

Grantaire gaped at her, feeling a great loss well up in his stomach. A whole month without Enjolras? Without their imperfect little world? Could he handle it? “What? Are you sure you can’t sacrifice like, one person to turn it on? Surely I can handle the rest myself.”

Rachel shook her head. “There is no other personnel. It’s just me and Emily around here, and the investment meetings require the both of us.” She shut her bag with a harsh snap and sighed. “I’m sorry Grantaire. See you in a month.”

~*~

Grantaire hadn't slept in 36 hours. 

The pills were supposed to help you sleep dreamlessly, but they only did that if he took them. He hadn't even filled out the prescription. 

So, in addition to not taking his pills, he had 3 exams to study for, and he hadn't bought any of the textbooks. Which simply meant that he spent all of his time in the library flipping through textbooks while chugging coffee and rubbing his five year chip just to remind himself that he couldn't drink away this problem, it would probably only make it worse.

Usually the cute strawberry-blonde librarian would check on him every few hours, especially this last day and a half, as he’d only left at closing time and even then he hadn't slept, only wandered back to his dorm and studied his notes even more, brewing more coffee than he probably needed, interspersed with the occasional Monster for flavoring.

It’s not that he couldn’t sleep. It’s not that he  _ actually _ had this much studying to do. The full reality of the situation was that his dreams were growing worse, especially with the exposure to the machine not providing him with any actual sleep. If anything, it only made his dreams that much more tangible. 

He’d barely blinked twice, the first seeming astoundingly shorter than the second, the latter ending when there was a light tapping on his shoulder.

He shot upright into a sitting position, hair askew and one of his study guides stuck to his cheek.

“Woah.” He cleared his throat, then continued. “Uh, sorry, was I asleep?”

“Yes.”

Grantaire turned in his seat to eye his waker, who was standing behind him.

His pale blue shirt was tucked into a pair of khakis and his long blond hair that hung by his ears was falling out of its ponytail to frame a very, very familiar face.

“...Enjolras…” Grantaire gasped, utterly awed by the sudden appearance of his ancestor’s lover, and by extension, his own lover.

The man who woke him, his mouth which was previously open and poised to say something, closed in surprise. It opened again and he spoke slowly and with purpose. “How did you know my name?”

“I… um…” Grantaire hesitated. How did he know this man’s name? How could he possibly? It didn’t make much sense one way or the other.

“Have you seen me on the news or something?”

He went with the out that this man had given him. “Yes, yes, of course. For that time you…?”

“Protested all along champs elysee? Or the time myself and my fellows lit that car on fire?”

“That one.” Grantaire grinned. That sounded exactly like something  _ his _ Enjolras would do, if there were cars. And also fire at hand. He wouldn’t go out of his way, but lord knows he’d do it for the attention. 

“Anyway, uhm, we’re closed, so if you could…” Enjolras trailed off, gesturing with his hands in a very specific ‘scoot your ass’ motion: two fingers tightly pressed together in a stiff shooing movement that only repeated itself twice.

“Of course!” Grantaire collected his things quickly, leaving the books that belonged to the library on the table, as he’d grown accustomed. “So sorry, really, I hope I haven’t put you out, by staying, that is.”

“Not at all. I’ll follow you out, lock up behind you, and all that.”

Grantaire slowed in packing up his bag when he reached the end. This man looked just like his Enjolras, was named Enjolras, even spoke and acted like his Enjolras. As they say, if it walks like a duck, and it talks like a duck… That and the added bit about the car. If cars had been invented, he was sure his Enjolras would have lit one on fire at some point or another.

It took him until he was drawing closer and closer to the door that he plucked up the courage to turn around and speak up. “Would you want to do something tonight? With me?” He said it all in a rush.

Enjolras blinked, surprised but seeming receptive to the idea. “I don’t do bars.”

“Me neither.” Grantaire assured him. “But I obviously need some coffee.”

“It’s 3am, what would we even do?”

Grantaire shrugged. “There aren’t any coffee shops open?”

“They won’t open for another two hours, at least.” Enjolras frowned.

Grantaire buried his hands in his pockets against the winter chill. “Have you ever been to America?”

Enjolras nodded. “Once, on holiday. We visited their Disneyworld, but Paris’ is far better if you ask me.”

“You went as a child then? Accompanied by parents?”

“I did.”

“And you, therefore, were never akin to the multitude of restaurants, bodegas, and superstores that are open for Twenty-four hours a day.”

“You mean like ChaCha?” Enjolras perked up.

“I’m sorry? What’s that?” Grantaire frowned his confusion. “Is that one of the things I listed?”

Enjolras nodded. “It’s a restaurant, fairly upscale though.”

“Too expensive for a college student?”

“Oh, certainly.”

Grantaire smirked mischievously. “Lead the way.”

It wasn't until they were safely nestled in a quiet corner booth that Enjolras finally spoke to him again, for he'd been oddly quiet and kept his head suspiciously down while they were walking to the restaurant from the student library.

“So…” Grantaire started, glancing at the menu surreptitiously. “What brings you to Paris?”

Enjolras’ brow furrowed. “What makes you think I don’t live here?” However, he wore a bemused smirk, giving away that he wasn’t entirely pissed about something Grantaire couldn’t possibly know.

“Oh, uh, your accent. It’s British.”

Enjolras’ smile grew and he rolled his eyes. “Excellent deductive work. I’m from England, but we moved here when I was about 15.”

“Ah. Not just here for school?”

Enjolras shook his head. “Not just for school, no. I live here. I care about this place.”

Grantaire tilted his head slightly, indicating his interest and silently willing Enjolras to go on.

He seemed to get the hint. He leaned forward and began to tell Grantaire about his friend group here, and how they have run a series of protests against certain disagreeable French legislature, as he had mentioned earlier in their day. His friends and himself weren’t opposed to taking the train over to England either and launching rallies their either, as he considered both of them his home countries and both needed the help of the young and the bold.

Grantaire very nearly sighed in absolute contentment when Enjolras started rambling on. This was just like  _ his _ Enjolras to go on and on with this amount of pure passion in his voice, his eyes glittering with energy and inspiration. Half of the issues they fought for or against were exactly the same, if the Enjolras of his dreams had ones a bit more outdated, obviously, but some were the same. He’d heard Enjolras speak with him in private about those in their society like them, who strayed towards homosexual tendencies, and how they should be treated equally and fairly, he’d spoken about the unfair treatment of young unwed mothers, and how their country’s taxation system had to be changed as to shift the unfair tax burden off of the poor.

“Grantaire?” Enjolras’ voice woke him from his daydreaming.

He blinked twice and repositioned himself in his seat, trying to look attentive. “Yes?”

“You got this weird look on your face… I’m sorry, was I talking too much? I sort of get carried away like that, I’m sorry, talking too much about myself-”

“No, no, you’re fine.” Grantaire cut him off in order to assure him. “I love to listen-”  _ to you.  _ “-To you.” Damn it. That was supposed to stay in his head, not come out of the front of it. “Shit.”

A light hint of rose petal blush peppered Enjolras’ remarkably high cheekbones. “You don’t know me.”

“Doesn’t mean I don’t like listening to you. You have lots of fascinating ideas to teach people about.” Grantaire protested. 

“I mean,” Enjolras sighed, and Grantaire could feel another eye roll coming, he could feel it in his bones. “I guess, you don’t know me well enough to know how much that means to me.”

“I figure everyone likes being listened to.” Grantaire said with a shrug, leaning back so that their server could lay their plates down in front of them.

“Would either of you like a glass of wine?” Their server asked politely, in french.

“No, Thank you.” Grantaire answered almost immediately, overlapping Enjolras saying something about seeing a wine menu.

She glanced between the two, slightly confused. 

“ _ Puis-je voir la liste des vins _ ?” Enjolras repeated himself, giving Grantaire an odd look, not disapproving at all, more curious than anything. It was strange to see that look on his face, his Enjolras spent most of his time sending disapproving glares his way, to see it go a different direction was refreshing and chilling in the same moment.

“ _ Bien sur _ .” She nodded to him and pulled one out of seemingly nowhere, handed it to Enjolras, and disappeared. 

“Not a fan of wine, I take it?” Enjolras asked cordially, flipping the wine list over in search of either something he liked or something he’d never tried before, Grantaire had no way of telling. 

“I go to Alcoholics Anonymous.” Grantaire said softly, shaking his head at the list unconsciously, cautious of the contents.

“Oh.” Enjolras immediately swept the menu close to his chest, as if he were protecting Grantaire from it. “Pardon me.”

“You can order whatever you want, I’m quite good at expressing self control as of late.” Grantaire assured him.

“How long?” Enjolras asked gently, subtly setting the menu down next to him on his seat and out of Grantaire’s view. “I’m sorry, am I allowed to ask that? Is that rude or insensitive-”

“I’m not going to get all huffy over a simple innocent question. You can turn off your inner Social Justice Warrior.” 

Enjolras snorted to himself. “ _ Inner. _ ”

“What? Didn’t catch that.” Grantaire leaned forward sarcastically, cupping a hand to his ear.

“There is nothing  _ inner _ or even remotely hidden about my Social Justice tendencies.” Enjolras chuckled, then softened. “So what, I can just ask you anything?”

Grantaire shrugged. “Fuck it, why not? Anything.”

Enjolras’ laugh was genuine and louder than their entire conversation so far, drawing the attention of some nearby patrons and their waitress, as well as two men who had just walked into the restaurant. Their eyes found Enjolras almost immediately, and simultaneously both reached for their belts.

Enjolras’ eyes widened exponentially, his laugh fading and the smile melting off of his face. “Shit.”

“What is it?” Grantaire twisted in his seat to get a better look at the men. Was he missing something about them, something that struck fear and anxiety into his porcelain angelic face, or did he know these men from before, and therefore had context that Grantaire did not? “Are they the Mafia or something? Are they gonna make us sleep with the fishies?”

“You are a ridiculous human being, I’m now coming to realize.”

There he was. That clinical, over pronounced voice, the sour disposition, the look of action on his face.  _ His _ Enjolras.

“What’s going on?” Grantaire asked, turning back to Enjolras, sinking down in his seat subconsciously.

“Remember that car I, uh, allegedly lit on fire?” He asked, sinking deeper into his seat and wiggling his wallet out from his back pocket.

“Ha, allegedly.” Grantaire snorted.

“Allegedly.” Enjolras half-growled.

“What about it?”

“I… sort of forgot to get arrested for that.” He tossed two hundred Euro notes on the table. “We have to go.”

“What, are those guys cops?”

“First correct thing out of your mouth.” Enjolras stood, grabbed his hand, and hauled him out of the booth before making a run for it.

“Shit-!” Grantaire exclaimed, but ran with it, trying to keep up with Enjolras as best as he could; the little shit was fast. 

There were cries for them to stop from the officers, but Enjolras blew past them and burst out of the restaurant, dragging Grantaire out behind him.

Grantaire tugged his hand free, but followed this crazy blond man down the street and away from the restaurant. 

It was hard to keep up with Enjolras. This man clearly liked running, at the very least recreationally, and he was lithe, and  _ so _ much farther ahead of Grantaire. Grantaire struggled to take a breath before laying on another layer of energy, which only afforded him a few more inches gained, but worth it all the same. 

It took him at least three to five minutes to catch up to Enjolras, and he was struggling. Perhaps a jaunty stroll on the treadmills in the basement of his dorm complex would do him well. 

“That escalated very quickly.” Enjolras said suddenly, not even sounding out of breath in the slightest, the cheeky bastard.

“What do you mean? What did?” 

“That car fire thing. I just thought I’d explain.”

“Gotcha.” Grantaire continued to struggle to catch up with Enjolras; not only was he lean with a profusion of endurance, he was a fast runner. “Is this really the time to explain yourself?!”

“Probably not.”

They rounded another corner, and the cops shouted after them in French. “Stop! Stop or there will be violence!”

“I choose violence!” Enjolras yelled over his shoulder with a possessed laugh before rounding a corner onto the next street and nearly running into an innocent car that was parked there. He jumped onto it and ran up the hood, the car alarm now blaring. He came to a stop on the roof and turned to check their progress, also waiting for Grantaire to catch up.

Grantaire blew past the idiot standing on the vehicle. “What is with you and cars?” He grumbled. “Get a move on, they’re gaining on us!” 

But the second he rounded the next corner, he was faced with two other cops, in uniform, ready to take them down.

One of them had him on the ground within forty seconds, the other catching Enjolras around his waist and hauling him into the air, only to have Enjolras kick out wildly, fending off the two original police that had caught up around then.

Oddly cold cuffs clicked around Grantaire’s left wrist, and he stayed still, knowing that if he cooperated, they might let his hands be cuffed in the front. He was right about that, he could tell when they flipped him over before cuffing his other hand and even helping him up.

Enjolras, on the other hand, was literally kicking and screaming in protest of his capture, and being shoved up against a cop car to be handcuffed from behind.

Regardless of behavior, they were both shoved into the same backseat, thankfully. Grantaire wasn’t quite sure what he would have done without Enjolras next to him. It was a miracle his anxiety hadn’t kicked in yet, probably something about adrenaline or perhaps his brain knew he needed to be the calm on here, as it certainly wasn’t going to be Enjolras. 

Alas, there he was, sitting in the back of a cop car, handcuffed, next to the most beautiful man who also so happened to share countless characteristics with the dream-form with whom he’d fallen in love.

Granted, that piece of visionary perfection was still yelling beside him, and now that the volume of the space had decreased, the volume of his voice increased drastically. 

Enjolras kicked the cage between himself and the front seat, scooting down in his seat in order to do it in the first place and looking like a toddler who wanted to melt out of his carseat. “This is the Twenty third century! Gays can marry and the common citizen can apply for fucking  _ space travel _ , but the poor still starve in the streets!”

“Government subsidies haven’t worked in the past, they won’t work now, kid.” The officer in the passenger seat scowled.

Enjolras went to kick at him again, but Grantaire used his conveniently front-cuffed hands to his advantage and stopped him with a gentle hand.

“He’s right, Enjolras. Historically, it doesn’t work to revitalize the nation into an economic boom. If anything, it causes an economic plateau.” 

“Oh ho, ‘historically’.” Enjolras’ tone was familiarly mocking. “What are you, a history major?”

“Yes.” Grantaire responded cooly.

“Fuck you then. We don’t want money, we want food.” He shouted that last bit at the two in the front seat.

“Says the guy who laid out two hundred quid for an eighty dollar meal.” Grantaire grumbled. 

“That waitress deserves more than-”

“Ay!” The cop in the driver’s seat interrupted. “Shut your boyfriend up, would you?” 

Grantaire quieted at that, shivering at the thought of being with Enjolras again. But oddly, the Enjolras that came to mind was not his own, but the one beside him.

But ever quick tongued Enjolras burst forth with: “He’s my husband, you back water inbred piece of shit!”

“What the hell?!” Grantaire hissed.

“If we’re married, they can’t separate us in our cells.” Enjolras whispered back.

“If you’re married, where are your rings?” The passenger seat cop chuckled.

“We don’t have them back yet, this is our honeymoon, dickhead.” Enjolras spat, wiggling in his seat so he wasn’t laying on his cuffed hands. “Thanks for ruining it, by the way.”

“We’re not the ones that turned a peaceful protest into a fire and lights show.” 

“ _ Allegedly _ !” Enjolras snapped.

“Allegedly? There’s a video, you daft bastard!” the man chortled. “Good luck getting your rich parents and their fancy lawyer to help you off this time.”

Enjolras rolled his eyes. “Can’t get me on a charge that doesn’t stick.”

“Only the guilty run.”

Enjolras stiffened marginally, so minutely that only Grantaire noticed. “You ruined my date.”

The cop in the driver’s seat shushed him, eliciting a petulant reply from Enjolras, but neither registered for Grantaire. He was too busy staring out the window of the police car, one that was being put into park.

They had arrived. 

The station was laid into an old building, as were most of the buildings in old Paris. From the exterior it looked much the same as every other old facade Grantaire had seen since moving there for the year, but any further contemplation was beyond him, as he and Enjolras were rushed into the building without much ceremony.

Neither cop was being very gentle with them; Enjolras had pissed them off enough in the car to ensure their mistreatment for the remainder of the evening.

“Rot in hell!” Enjolras grumbled, struggling against his bonds and the large man rough handing him into a cell.

“Keep your mouth shut, or I’ll add public indecency to your record.”

“You can’t do that!” Grantaire hissed, twisting in his cuffs to face the man who was corralling Enjolras down the hall. “It’s not true, that’s slander!”

“Slander is spoken, in print it’s called libel.” Enjolras corrected him, using a funny voice that jarred Grantaire, catching him off guard.

He turned on him. “What the…?” He trailed off. “Why the voice?”

“It’s J. Jonah Jameson. Spiderman.” Enjolras stared at him. “Have you not seen those?”

“The ones from like 2005? Yeah, sure, but jesus dude, get an updated pop culture reference list.”

“Both of you, shut up.” One of the men growled before letting go of Grantaire with one hand so he could unlock one of the holding cells.

Enjolras actually stood still for this part, the part where the cops took their cuffs off and shoved them into the cell. It was only after the door shut behind them that he leapt into action again. “I want my lawyer! He better be here in the next hour, or I will have you, I swear to god almighty!”

But they were already gone.

Grantaire sighed and sat down heavily on the bench provided, an almost immediately found his lap occupied by the fluffy blond curls of his new companion. “Wha…?”

Enjolras looked up at him as if absolutely nothing was wrong or strange about this situation. “What?”

“Nothing.” Grantaire sat still, watching the cops linger by their door out of the corner of his eye. 

Enjolras gave a half-shrug and peered up at Grantaire silently; the other returned the same quiet.

Grantaire spoke up the moment all the cops were out of earshot. “Why would you even say something like that?”

“Like what?” Enjolras was already laying on the bench, his head beside Grantaire and body sprawled out, feet propped up, as if this was the most natural thing in the world for him, as if he was coming home with a friend after an exhausting outing.

“Say that we were married. That’s so out there it’s almost unbelievable. And we’ve just met!” Maybe if this was  _ his  _ Enjolras, he wouldn’t be having this problem, but this was not. This person was an actual stranger, who just so happened to look just like the man in his dreams.

Enjolras was silent for a few long, drawn out moments. “I… I don’t like being alone in here.”

Grantaire nodded slowly. “I understand. Still seems a bit extreme.”

Enjolras shrugged, accidentally shifting his body slightly with the movement. “It’s the first thing that came to mind. The opportunity presented itself semi-naturally, as that cop thought we were boyfriends in the first place. And I’ve been resisting arrest, they aren’t going to take any requests from me about who I get to stay in the same cell as overnight.”

“You have a lawyer, right?” Grantaire folded his hands in his lap.

“An expensive one.” Enjolras assured him.

“Hopefully that’s synonymous with good.”

“Grantaire, I’m a rowdy political activist in a foreign country with multiple infractions against my person, and I’ve never been in prison. He’s good.”

“Think he’ll help me too?”

“Help you do what? The second they figure out you weren’t there the day of the car fire, you’ll be released, I promise. You’re only here because you  _ might _ be an accomplice.” Enjolras ran his both of his hands through his hair, shaking it out with a frustrated sigh. “I can certainly say this is the most  _ interesting _ first date I’ve ever been on.”

Grantaire’s eyes widened, his eyebrows rising. “I’m sorry, this was a date?”

Enjolras frowned. “Yeah? You asked me out in the library, so I took you to dinner. That’s a date.”

Grantaire, diverted his attention to the wall across from himself and stared it down, smiling to himself. “Yeah, date. We just went on a date,”

“Had a lovely dinner,” Enjolras added.

“And then got  _ arrested _ .” Grantaire finished out with a growl and an eye roll. 

Enjolras gave him a cheeky smirk, but said nothing.

The dull thrum of the air conditioner and the distant sounds of people being booked and processed hung between them, neither of them speaking or moving for fear of breaking the very delicate, oddly comfortable tension between the two of them.

“So…” Enjolras finally said, breaking the silence between them again. “You don’t live in Paris normally, do you? I can tell you’re British.”

“And?” Grantaire cocked an eyebrow at him. 

“Well, I guess, what brings you here? You know that my parents dragged me here so many years ago for proper schooling, but you? I know you’re a student, we go to school together. So, what brings you to Paris?”

“School.” Grantaire answered matter-of-factly. “I’m a foreign exchange student, so I’ll be gone by the end of the semester, back to university in England, I’m afraid.”

“Oh.” Enjolras said softly, his grin shrinking, losing a bit of its light. “Well, uh, what have you seen so far?”

“What do you mean?”

“You know, the sights. In Paris. Have you gone to the Eiffel Tower? Walked along the Seine?”

“Not even slightly.” Grantaire sighed, running both hands through his hair. 

“Haven’t had the time?”

“Haven’t had the time.” He confirmed flippantly. 

~*~

Grantaire must have drifted off at some point in that dingy jail cell, because between blinks, the sun had risen again and Enjolras seemed to teleport to the cell door from his previous place beside Grantaire with his head in his lap. He was speaking softly to a woman in a suit on the other side of the bars his lawyer, presumably.

“Enjolras?” Grantaire croaked in his sleep weary voice. 

The other spun around immediately and rushed to his side. “Hey, hey, sorry.” He whispered. “Did I wake you?”

Grantaire shook his head wearily. “No, no, I’m fine. What’s going on?”

“That’s my lawyer, Sophie Greenwell.” Enjolras explained. “She’s got this all figured out, you’ll get to go home soon.”

Grantaire frowned. “And what about you?”

Enjolras sighed and shook his head. He ran his nails through his hair, that at some point in the night had been pulled back into a frizzy ponytail. “This is technically my second strike, so they’re going to have to write me up. I’ll be out in a few hours, don’t worry about me.” He laid his hand atop Grantaire’s. “You should never have to worry about me.”

“I always worry.”

“Even over someone you just met?”

Grantaire shrugged, smirking coyly. He felt like they’d known each other for months now, hardly a single day. But this Enjolras didn’t know about  _ his _ Enjolras. And it was hardly normal to bring it up now. Well, normalcy and the fact that he was sworn to secrecy about the experiments for some sort of insider trading reason or something. But mostly the desire to appear normal to this man that echoed his own Enjolras so strongly and yet was so vibrant in his own right.  

“You should go home. Get some rest. You look really tired.”

“No shit.” Grantaire chuckled, standing. “This is the second time that you’ve woken me up in a strange place tonight.”

Enjolras returned with a soft laugh. “Hey, uh, give me your phone.”

“What? Why?”

Enjolras just held his hand out expectantly. Grantaire sighed and handed it over cautiously. Enjolras flicked the screen unlocked and tapped it with unnecessary veracity for a few moments before handing it back. “There. My number’s in there now, do with it as you will.”

Grantaire cocked an eyebrow at his boldness. “Oh? Uh, thanks, I guess.”

“You guess?”

“Oh, shit, yes, thank you. I will use it. Also, thank you for bailing me out.”

Enjolras shook his head. “I haven’t actually bailed you out, as you haven’t actually done anything wrong.”

Grantaire shrugged. “Whatever. Thanks.” He waved goodbye to Enjolras as his lawyer escorted him out. 

~*~

Grantaire’s phone buzzed on the coffee table, next to where his feet were propped up. He ignored it in favor of the game he was currently kicking Jason’s ass in.

Nick’s attention, however, was laser focused to the phone. He counted the people in the room, Robert, Jason, himself. No one was missing. He looked down at Fuzz Lightyear, who was chilling in his lap, for answers. “If we’re all here, who the fuck is texting Grantaire?”

“Huh?” Grantaire’s attention was finally drawn away from the screen. “Oh, it’s probably just… someone.”

“Someone?” Nick scooped Fuzz Lightyear up and deposited him onto Jason’s lap before swiping the phone off the table.

“What the fuck, man?!” Grantaire still didn’t give up on  the screen, but now his eyes were darting back and forth between the game and his asshole roommate. 

“Oh ho, who is this?” Nick smirked, dancing away from Grantaire. “Someone named ‘Enjolras’...” 

“That’s none of your business!” Grantaire barked.

“Nick, seriously, give it back.” Robert protested, but his voice was lost to the chaos. 

“‘I want to lick you from your head to your toes’”

Jason balked.

“It doesn’t say that!” Grantaire protested. “He wouldn’t say that!”

“You’re right, that’s a song lyric.” Nick smirked. “You want to hear what he really said?”

“Hell yes!” Jason begged.

“Hell no!” Grantaire barked.

“Jason wins, I like him the most.” Nick blew his best friend a playful kiss, which Jason caught. “Okay… Haha, ‘you know, I never got a first kiss from you’ Ugh, who the fuck is this guy?”

Grantaire finally gave up on the game and tossed his controller aside to grab his phone back from his most petulant roommate. “He’s a law student. We met in the library.”

Nick gagged. “God, do you live in a fuckin’ romance novel?”

“I’d like to think so.” Grantaire shot back, typing out a response quickly while finding his seat on the couch again blindly. “There. Thank god you didn’t send anything, otherwise he’d think I was a fuckin’ lad or some shit.”

“‘You cannot take from me anything from which I would more willingly part with-all’?” Nick read aloud over his shoulder as he typed. “What the fuck does that mean?”

“It’s a quote from Hamlet, you daft bastard.” Robert said snarkily. “Are you even in grad school?”

“I am, thank you.” Nick crossed his arms proudly.

Grantaire tucked his phone into his pocket insecurely before scooping up Flufflepuff and kissing his ears. The cat mewed unhappily, but Grantaire could care less. His friends were assholes.

~*~

“Where’s Rachel?” Grantaire asked the moment he walked into the lab, in which music was playing softly. He’d gathered from some of Rachel Duncan’s snappish comments at Emily that music in the lab would not be tolerated. Therefore, music playing meant Rachel was nowhere to be found. “Am I early or something?”

Emily looked up from her table mid-dance move. “You’re right on time. As for Rachel, uh, she… had a business meeting, so she couldn’t make it.”

“Cool.” Grantaire nodded, giving Emily a small smile.

She returned it. “I was thinking, because she’s here, and there’s nothing she can do to stop me, why don’t we break the narrative a little bit?”

“What do you mean?” Grantaire’s thick black brows furrowed.

“I mean…” She held up a print from his dream collection, one of Enjolras lounging in a bathtub, the majority of his figure captured in the bathroom mirror behind him. He was gazing at the audience longingly. When he’d dreamed it, just this snippet, He’d been looking at Grantaire like he was the only thing in the world. Now Grantaire had to share that gaze with anyone who laid eyes on his painting. “Let’s go into  _ this _ dream. Have a little fun. What do you say?”

“I’d say ‘where did you get that?’ but I’m not sure that’s what you’re looking for.”

Emily blushed bashfully. “Oh, uh, your therapist gave it to us when she transferred you to our care.”

“That was a thing that happened?”

“Oh, yes. Sorry, I thought we told you.” Emily shrugged nonchalantly. “But this one looks so fun, and steamy… want to go in?” 

Grantaire grinned and brushed it off. “Sure, I’d love to. Fuck it. When’s the next time Rachel isn’t going to be here?”

“We should seize every opportunity, of course.” Emily beamed, doing a little happy dance before spinning round and punching buttons on her computer bay, a new level of happiness in her step. “Okay, so this should be another run-of-the-mill happy fun time, but in the ‘writer’s room’ we determined that you’d be mad at Enjolras for some reason.”

“Maybe that he’s a self-sacrificing piece of shit who never listens to the concerns of others?” Grantaire contributed, a bit too quickly.

“As long as you can think of a reason and play it off, it’s fine.”

“Why add that at all?”

Emily shrugged, but there was something uneasy about her posture. “I guess the people that wrote the narrative got bored. They must have wanted drama.”

He returned her shrug with one of his own and stripped off his tee shirt. “It makes sense. He’s kind of a prat sometimes.”

“Guess they went back and changed some things to fit.” She started tapping away, indicating that he should get in position. 

The transition between the lab and his Parisian Victorian flat was seamless; it took up the space of a blink.

He opened his eyes and found himself in a bathroom, sitting on a stool with a blank sketchbook and pencil in hand. 

Enjolras sat in the bathtub in front of him running his fingers through his wet hair over and over again, rubbing soap in before plunging below the water to rinse.

Grantaire rolled his eyes at this celestial beauty and looked down at his hands, which seemed to already be drawing all on their own. His hands were already beginning to form an outline of the man before without his brain’s permission, and much to his chagrin. 

So what, maybe Grantaire was supposedly angry with Enjolras, but it didn’t seem to change the fact he could take over any sketch Grantaire could attempt. Damn it all.

Enjolras emerged from his rinse and immediately began speaking. Grantaire diverted his attention back to his sketchbook so he could more easily ignore this petulant man. “The only thing I can think of doing at our next demonstration is  _ literally  _ storming the Bastille.” Enjolras shifted in the tub, some water sloshing out as a result. 

Grantaire hummed in response, not looking up from his sketchbook. He had to play this off. Plus, it was fun to play along with Emily.

“Grantaire.” Enjolras sat up and flicked water at the other man.

Grantaire’s head shot up. “What?!” He barked angrily.

Enjolras hardly flinched. “I have been laying out in this tub for the last hour, completely naked, and yet you have not spared me a single glance.” He crossed his arms. “I invited you in here for several reasons, Grantaire, and I’ll be damned if one of those was not to display my naked body in front of you.”

Grantaire huffed, but said nothing. He didn’t want to mess up any timelines or whatever this stupid experiment was by taking out his anger on  _ his _ Enjolras on  _ this _ Enjolras.

Enjolras frowned at the returned silence. “Oh, I see what’s going on here. Pardon me, oh fearless non-believer, am I to assume we are still arguing about nothing?”

Grantaire went back to his sketchbook, even switching charcoals. “Seeing as that is what you consider your life, and we are indeed at odds on the subject of said life, yes. We are fighting about nothing.”

Enjolras sighed. “We would never get anywhere in this relationship if we never spoke, especially while we were upset with one another.”

“What are you suggesting?” Grantaire set his sketchpad and pencils aside and kneeled by the tub. He wanted this to be over as quickly as possible. Not just the fighting that apparently he and this enjolras were going through, but this whole stupid situation. Rachel, Emily, his own Enjolras, school, everything in his world that confused him, to be honest.

“Rules.” Enjolras shifted to face Grantaire, crossing his arms on the edge of the tub and resting his chin there, their noses nearly brushing.

“Rules?” Grantaire repeated; now he was curious.

“The quarrel ceases to exist when someone is nude.” Enjolras’ eyes darted downwards, implicating himself, then up again met Grantaire’s gaze. His lithe fingers tangled themselves in Grantaire’s cravat. “Come now, love. Let us put off this senseless bantering and splash some bathwater around.” He murmured suggestively, glancing at Grantaire’s lips and licking his own indecently.

Grantaire sighed as Enjolras untied the cravat and tossed it aside, not finding the energy within himself to stop the other man from undressing him. “If that is a rule, we would never actually finish-”

Enjolras’ mouth closed over his briefly; a breath of a kiss. “Shush. I am naked and waiting very patiently, Grantaire.”

“Now I get why you demand I do all of my sketching in your bathroom.” Grantaire said with a roll of his eyes, hands already drifting down to the hem of his shirt so he could tug it off over his head, tossing it onto the stool he’d occupied moments before. “Quite selfish of you, really, Enjolras.”

“Talk less. Undress more.” The other growled playfully.

Grantaire complied as quickly as he could and slipped into the bath with Enjolras, bathwater sloshing over the edge of the tub. It was still warm, still clear and hardly dirty at all, something Grantaire chalked up to the dreaming nature of the animus rather than a historical unlikelihood. 

Enjolras ran delicate fingers down Grantaire’s chest, straightening dark curls dusted there and twirling a few of the longer ones around his fingers while Grantaire found a comfortable spot between Enjolras’ legs to settle in the narrow tub.

“I love you.” Enjolras said softly, his gaze not meeting Grantaire’s. “I don’t want to lose you over something I said.”

“And I don’t want to lose you to some cop that’s taking matters into their own hands.” Grantaire’s eyes drifted, and he slid down to lay gentle kisses over Enjolras’ face and shoulders.

“Not now, Grantaire. Naked.” Enjolras hummed sensually. 

~*~

When he came out of the Animus 45 minutes later, Emily was playing Cat’s Cradle while casually watching his vitals monitors. She dropped the string and smirked as she joined him to take him down from the machine.

“ _ Someone’s _ Beats per Minute spiked.” She teased. 

“Shut up.”

“I thought you were supposed to be mad at him.”

“I was!” Grantaire insisted. “He just… made a compelling argument.”

“Which was…?” She picked up her own padd, ready to take notes.

“It was nothing, Emily. Nothing really.” Grantaire said with a shrug.

“Grantaire, you can tell me. All of this is confidential.”

Grantaire rolled his eyes while tossing his shirt back on. “He made a ‘no fighting while we’re naked’ rule. And he was in the bathtub. So we weren’t allowed to fight in that moment.”

Emily’s smirk grew into a full blown sneer. “That makes perfect sense if you don’t think about it.”

“Oh, sure. Of course.” Grantaire fumbled for his bag. “Can I go now? I have a lot of studying to do.”

“You don’t want to go back in?” Emily’s smile faded to a crestfallen frown.

Grantaire shook his head. “Finals are coming up, I couldn’t possibly stay.” He reached over to pat her arm in an awkward form of comfort. “Thanks for giving me something fun today. You’re much more relaxing to work with than Rachel.”

“I can’t imagine why.” She snorted. “See you around, R.”

His brow furrowed, but he brushed it off.

~*~

Sure, Grantaire probably went to the library that night to study rather than a coffee shop or back to his room for the slim possibility of seeing Enjolras. They’d been texting nearly non-stop for a month, but he’d hardly caught wind of the other man since they’d parted ways in the jail.

That is, until he was about 15 pages into his assigned reading and someone laid a hand on his shoulder, leaned over the other shoulder, and whispered in his ear.

“I’m doing something tonight.” Enjolras said, his tone stilted and not very telling of his mood.

“Noted.” Grantaire replied, trying not to give way to the fact that Enjolras had just scared the shit out of him, and letting the smallest smile edge onto his lips. “Last night of school before finals and everything. Are you hinting that I shouldn’t try to ask you to my own end-of-semester party?”

Enjolras shook his head. “No, uh, sorry, I’m uh, I’m really bad at this.”

“You can’t possibly be bad at anything, I’m sure.” Grantaire leaned against his desk on his elbow and twisted around to properly look at Enjolras.

“Uh, ha, that’s very sweet of you.” The very edges of Enjolras’ pin-sharp cheekbones found themselves dabbed with the colour rose. “No, I was actually wondering if you could do this... thing...  _ with _ me tonight.”

“Oh!” Grantaire beamed. “Like a date.”

“Kind of?” Enjolras smiled uneasily, but it very quickly gained confidence. “So, are you in?”

“Depends, what are we doing? Are you taking me to dinner again?”

“No, not dinner. What I was thinking, well…” Enjolras smirked, shook his head, and leaned forward. “It isn’t, strictly speaking, legal.”

Grantaire returned his smirk. “And what, exactly, are we talking about here?”

Enjolras glanced around. “Not here. Too many ears and eyes.”

Grantaire rolled his eyes. “Sure, whatever, pretty boy. Meet me by that coffee shop you’ve always wanted to try? Maybe around 8?”

“Make it 10 and I’ll be there.” Enjolras agreed.

~*~

Grantaire would always be late compared to Enjolras, he was sure. This guy was fifteen minutes early to a meeting  _ he _ set at a  _ later _ time than originally proposed. 

He rolled his eyes and approached Enjolras, who was leaning against the exterior windows of this place. It closed at nine.

“So you drag me here at 10 o’clock at night and we don’t even get to try the place?” Grantaire said as some form of hello. 

Enjolras smiled when he saw him. “The point was to meet somewhere where no one would be. This place is always dead by 10.”

“So… what kind of date is this going to be, if we can’t get coffee?” Grantaire asked, now horribly confused. 

Enjolras grinned fiendishly and held up a small wrapped bag. “This is a revolutionary date.”

Grantaire knew that look in his Enjolras’ eyes. They were about to break some rules. “Please tell me we’re about to revolutionize the way people go on dates.”

Enjolras shook his head, his grin widening. He unraveled the ties around his bag and let gravity unfold it, revealing a lock picking kit. “Come on Grantaire. Let’s go on an adventure.”

“Every day of my life with you is an adventure.” Grantaire groaned, rolling his eyes emphatically. “Fuckin’ fine. Let’s go.”

Enjolras pumped a fist in victory, rolled up his kit again, and grabbed Grantaire’s hand. “Let’s go!”

“I already said that.”

“Shut the fuck up.” Enjolras countered, dragging Grantaire down the street until they found themselves in front of a tall building with tall glass windows.

Grantaire gulped. It wasn’t possible. Well, it was entirely possible, but honestly, what was the likelihood? What were the odds that the place Enjolras clearly wanted to break into was the very same place that he went every week, the same conglomerate that held not only Rachel Duncan’s office, but an experimental lab in the basement so advanced Grantaire couldn’t even begin to understand the complexities.

“Uh, Enj, where are we?” Grantaire asked casually, playing down how much he actually knew.

“This, my dear Grantaire, is the corporate headquarters for Koneam, a company that runs illegal experiments for profit.” Enjolras said smugly, presenting the door to Grantaire Vanna White style.

Grantaire swallowed so loudly the sound of it pounded in his own ears. “Uh, illegal? How illegal are we talking here? Like, are they buying on margin, maybe cheating on their taxes…?” He asked, uneasy.

Enjolras shook his head, rolling his eyes at Grantaire. “No, Grantaire. This is bad.”

“How so?”

Enjolras took a step closer to him to whisper in his ear, even though they were alone one the dark, empty street. “I received word from my friends in pharmaceuticals that these people, after being denied FDA approval multiple times, have continued on with their project unabated. They’ve broken multiple laws and multiple codes of ethics.”

“Yeah, but only if what your friend tells you is true.” Grantaire returned cynically, hoping  _ this _ Enjolras wouldn’t respond as ferociously as the one in his dreams.

“Fine, be that way. But that’s what we’re here to figure out, alright? We’re not here to light anything on fire or to wreak any havok, we’re here to collect evidence. Lots of evidence.” Enjolras dug around in the shoulder bag he’d brought and pulled out a flashlight. “Would you like to hold this while I pick the lock, or would you like to be the one doing the lock picking?”

Grantaire took the flashlight from him wordlessly and flicked it on. Enjolras cocked an eyebrow but said nothing, only dug in his bag for his kit before turning on his heel towards the door and sauntering off.

Grantaire stood guard, while Enjolras picked the ancient lock. “Isn’t there a more modern security system that you are going to have to worry about?” 

“Don’t worry I thought of everything.” He took a wide faced watch from his pocket, strapping it to his wrist. “Vibrational lock system so all i have to do is match the unknown frequency, through trial and error.” He started twisting the outer edge of the watch until a high pitched emitted from it. 

Grantaire hands slapped against either side of his head, covering his ears. The noise only stopped when the door slid open with a dull clang. “What the hell was that?!” 

“People who have keys to this door also carry a key fob that emits a specific sound. It’s genius really. Not only would someone breaking in need the skills to pick a lock from the 20th century, they would also need to know the frequency of the sound on top of knowing that this is a vibrational locking system in the first place. 

“You truly are a renaissance man.” Grantaire gave him sly smile.

“You first.” Enjora gestured towards the door with a grin.

“Why do I have to go first?!” He exclaimed.

“Call it lecherous, but I love watching you walk away.” 

Grantaire smirked and sauntered off ahead of him, pointing the flashlight ahead of him, and followed it’s light up the spiral staircase.

Grantaire knew where they were. This side entrance only meant that Enjolras would see the Animus. he’d never been to Rachel’s office, but he knew that it was in the building somewhere and he knew it was above the lab. The only logical place for this four by four shaft to lead would be to the offices. Clearly, Enjolras had done his homework, but Grantaire had to be sure. 

“Where are we going?” 

“The lab should be off to our left right now, but that wouldn’t hold any paper evidence. We need to find the offices.”

They eventually came to a door, which opened without need of key to the hallway of a seemingly normal office building. Enjolras pulled his phone out of his pocket, presumably checking a map he had somewhere on there. “It should be the last one on the right.” 

Grantaire strode ahead to the aforementioned door, and sighed defeatedly. This had to be Rachel’s office, and in Rachel’s office Enjolras would most likely find a file with all of Grantaire’s information in it, all the information that he’d been withholding for a month now.

There was only one way about it. He had to get to his own file first.

Enjolras popped open the office door with ease. Grantaire handed his flashlight over to Enjolras, who darted off in the direction of the computer on Rachel’s desk.

Enjolras put the flashlight back in his mouth and started to sift through her desk drawers.

“What are you looking for anyway?”

Enjolras huffed in frustration; Grantaire took the flashlight from his mouth and held it for him so he could rummage and talk at the same time. “Anything, really. Any proof that this has gone too far.”

Grantaire swallowed. “Do you, uh, do you want me looking too?”

Enjolras nodded, not looking away from his work. “Yeah, actually, that would be great. Here, you can take the flashlight for yourself, I’ll just use my phone.” He waved Grantaire off. “Check the filing cabinet over there, try to find one with blueprints or transcripts of meetings that we could use. And if you can, go ahead and-”

Grantaire tuned him out the second his eyes caught the neat print on the label holder of this filing cabinet. 

_ Patients _ .

He tore the cabinet open with such a ferocity that a sharp bang echoed out; he received a sharp glare from Enjolras. But he didn’t care. He needed to find his own file. 

There was a distinct possibility that he wouldn’t find his own file in time, or that he wouldn’t find it at all. Not finding it at all meant it was safe, meant that Enjolras would never have to find out that Grantaire was involved in this madness. So he searched ferociously, ignoring the instructions Enjolras was giving him about what to look for, ignoring everything but what was written on the label masts of those manila folders hanging in that stupidly low filing cabinet drawer. 

And there he was.  _ Grantaire _ . Just a first name, handwritten on a mast at the very back of the cabinet. He flicked it open eagerly and found nothing but a flash drive taped to the inside. Of course. Paper copies leave a paper trail, a paper trail that proves they’ve been doing illegal human testing. 

This was, essentially, the one piece of evidence that Enjolras needed, but he couldn’t have that. He couldn’t let this turn Enjolras’ perception of him into a victim, or worse. So he peeled the tape off of the flash drive and tucked it into his jacket’s inner pocket.

He grabbed a few random files and spun round to face Enjolras, who was tapping away on Rachel’s computer. “I found some stuff, not sure if it’s useful.”

“Put it back.” Enjolras whispered excitedly. “I think I found everything. She kept all these digital files, and I’d rather copy them over onto my stuff than take paper copies. She’d notice the loss of paper documents.”

“...She?” Grantaire asked hesitantly. 

Enjolras gestured to the nameplate on the front of the desk casually. “Rachel Duncan. She’s the head of the snake, let me tell you.”

“Oh, yeah?” Grantaire chuckled uneasily. “Where’s the proof?”

Enjolras removed his flash drive from the computer with a flourish. “Right here. I just have to find it.”

~*~

Enjolras’ apartment would be considered small, if he were a family of six. It had a full kitchen, a bathroom and a half, two bedrooms, all for Enjolras, a singular person. 

“My parents… they highly endorse my pursuits in law.” Enjolras explained while stepping out of his shoes by the door.

“You’re going to be a barrister?” Grantaire asked, following suit.

Enjolras nodded. “It’s the best way I can think of to help. I may even run for office one day, but I couldn’t do it here, obviously.”

“Obviously.” Grantaire returned, subtly checking that the flash drive was still in his jacket before hanging it on Enjolras’ coat rack.

“Do you want something to drink?”

Grantaire shook his head. “I, uh, I’m sober, remember?”

Enjolras laughed softly, making his way to the kitchen. “Well, there’s more than just alcohol. Coffee, tea? I might have a soda around here somewhere.” 

“Coffee is fine.” Grantaire settled awkwardly on the couch, not sure if he was supposed to be sitting or if he should continue to stand by the door. 

Enjolras returned after a moment, leaning against the doorway to the kitchen. “So…”

“Do you want me to start going through the files, or should I-”

“No, by all means.” Enjolras gestured to his coffee table.

“Is this…” Grantaire trailed off in shock of the technology before him.

“A Surface? Yeah. Just stick the flash drive in the leg… yeah, that one, by you. That should boot it up.”

Grantaire followed instruction and the table lit up blue, the screen that was embedded in the top of the table turning on slowly. “I’ve never seen one of these in a home before, always at school. And even then I only got to use them for group work.”

“They’re incredibly useful, I don’t know why more people don’t have them.”

“Maybe because they cost as much as a house.” Grantaire said flippantly.

“I deserved that.” Enjolras trailed back into his living room and set two mugs of coffee on the side table. “You look like the kind of guy who would take it black.”

“You would be correct.” Grantaire reached for it blindly, his eyes glued to the screen as the documents started pulling up one by one. “What exactly are you looking for again?”

“I want to start with what it is that they’re building and what it does, that way I can get a full understanding of where they’ve stepped out of line.” Enjolras explained, dragging a few select documents over to his side of the table.

Grantaire skimmed his portions lazily while they sat in silence, waiting for the opportunity to reveal what he knew under the guise of having read the documents.

Unfortunately for him, Enjolras seemed to be a faster real reader than he was a fake one. 

“So, from what I can gather, this is some sort of full-immersion machine. See here?” He zoomed in on a blueprint of the animus. “That’s big enough to fit a human being. And these attachments are positioned correctly to be intravenous.”

“Okay, so what? Is it some sort of… sleep device, maybe?” He suggested covertly.

Enjolras regarded him as though he’d just snorted a pixie stick. “What? No, this isn’t even close to a dream machine. I mean, it seems to put the subject to sleep, but that’s not what it’s doing.”

Grantaire snorted. He’d been in the thing, he was sure he knew best, Fuck all that Enjolras knew. 

“I’m serious, Grantaire.” Enjolras chided, dragging over a document he’d gone over a few minutes before. “Look, the mission statement is clearly stated in this abstract.”

“Where… oh my god.” Grantaire mumbled along with the passage out loud. “...’to project the consciousness of the subject into a previous member of lineage…’ what the fuck does that mean?”

“It’s ridiculous, really.” Enjolras chuckled. “They’re trying to see if they can, effectively, time travel.” 

Grantaire stared at him in awe. “You're kidding.”

“It’s outrageously impossible, but somehow they’ve roped a test subject into this.” Enjolras rolled his eyes and brushed his hair back with his fingers. 

Grantaire swallowed nervously. “I… I don’t…” He fumbled his words in shock.

Enjolras laid a hand on his thigh, grabbing his attention. “You know… I didn’t ask you up to my place just to make you read boring technical documents for hours.” He gave him a coy smile. “I may or may not have had ulterior motives.”

Grantaire watched him close out of his surface with a sultry look aimed in his direction. He swallowed nervously. 

His smirk, accompanied by those eyes, dark with lust, took over all of Grantaire’s senses.

“What about the-” Grantaire never finished that sentence. 

Enjolras’ lips were soft and delicate, his lithe fingers carding through Grantaire’s hair and dragging him deeper into the kiss. He wrapped one leg around Grantaire’s waist and pulled him closer on the couch.

His hands wandered down Enjolras’ back until one found itself firmly planted on his ass.

The other man jerked away suddenly. “I- Grantaire, we shouldn’t-”

“I should go.” He agreed subtly, standing and adjusting his shirt. “Uh, good luck with all those papers.”

“Yeah.” Enjolras was patting his hair down, trying to tame it. “I’ll see you around.”

~*~

Sometime in the next few weeks, Grantaire found himself back in the Animus once more, this time painting half naked in front of his flat window.

The breeze nipped at Grantaire’s exposed groin. He doesn’t particularly care, as it seemed he was halfway done with his next painting, a simple landscape of the alleyway behind his apartment. A cat was snoozing on the street below, a small boy tossing something up at the bricks of the building adjacent, then catching it when it fell back near his hands.

Grantaire bit the end of his paint brush, clamping down to hold it as he picked up a smaller brush to dab on flecks of grey to the boy’s trousers.

The door behind him slammed open, startling him into dropping both brushes and paints.

Enjolras stood in the doorway, clearly furious. “You called my  _ parents  _ on me?” He seethed.

Grantaire was immediately on the defense. “I-”

“I could see you calling the police, that seems a very  _ Grantaire _ thing to do.” Enjolras interrupted him, slamming the door behind him and encroaching upon Grantaire’s space. “Calling  _ Combeferre  _ would be stepping over a line, but my  _ mother _ is completely out of line! How could you?!”

Enjolras’ accusations felt wrong. He didn’t feel in his gut like they were the truth, not like he usually did when some character in these stories told him some information about himself. “I don’t even know where your parents live?” He tried, hoping that this wrong feeling would just go away.

“You don’t? Then why did a pageboy show up to my parent’s house this morning and warn them of our activities just in time for them to arrest us? A pageboy who claims to have seen  _ you  _ tell him to do so?!” Enjolras stepped back when Grantaire leapt to his feet in shock.

“You were  _ arrested _ ?!”

“Like you don’t know!” Enjolras scoffed.

“I don’t know, Enjolras, I swear!”

“Grantaire, the pageboy gave a description of a man with medium build and had dark curly hair.”

Grantaire fell silent. That was a description of himself, but he knew in his heart he hadn’t done anything. “I’ve been home all day, Enjolras, I swear! I’ve been working on my painting.”

“I don’t want to hear your excuses, Grantaire! I-”

Grantaire interrupted his rant by removing his shirt.

“Grantaire, what are you-”

“You said yourself that the argument ends when one of us is naked. And as I already paint without pants…” He trailed off, pausing to remove his socks.

“Grantaire, you can’t-”

“I know I’m right, Enjolras. You know that you are right.”

“I don’t want to have sex with you.” Enjolras said stubbornly.

“I don’t want to have sex with you either.” Grantaire returned. “But you yourself made the rule. Now, I am naked, and the argument is put on hold.”

“The idea was to be put on hold until after we’d finished lovemaking.”

“Then you can wait for me to finish my painting as an alternative to love making.” Grantaire sat at his stool and picked up his paintbrush once more.

There was a knock on the door a few moments later, and grantaire spun on his stool to see who it was.

“Enjolras, I need to-” Courfeyrac entered halfway before crying out in shock and backing out into the hallway, “Jesus, Grantaire, Put on some pants.”

Grantaire reached for a bed sheet and tugged it over his lap. 

“What do you need, Courf?” Enjolras deadpanned.

“I need to apologize.”

“Apologize?” Grantaire asked. “For what?”

“First, let me explain.” Courfeyrac took a full step into the room. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, Enjolras, but there are signs posted everywhere. Signs asking for  _ your _ death. I presumed that having your parents call an end to our protest was easier for you to handle than being shot in the streets.”

Enjolras said nothing, only stared at Courfeyrac, yet his features softened.

“Black curly hair, and a medium build…” Grantaire whispered to himself, breaking the silence.

Enjolras maintained focus on Courfeyrac, his body stiff yet trembling. “Forgive me Grantaire, for I have wronged you.”

Grantaire turned back to his painting flippantly, dying to finish it in time to show his instructor later that afternoon. He’d said Grantaire should stray from renaissance style portraits for a moment, so he chose landscape art.

“Grantaire?” Enjolras whispered again, his voice somehow breathier. Grantaire grunted a response, pushing the sound out around his paintbrush, which was firmly lodged between his teeth. “Please forgive me, please. If I could return my words of anger and thank you, I would, Grantaire.”

Grantaire spun on his stool. “Enjolras, your passion is this wonderful, amazing thing. Apologies are welcome, but when your fire is turned on someone, it can only be used for good.”

“But I yelled at  _ you _ , love.” 

“And I accept your apology. But never,  _ Mon petit poule,  _ apologize for your fire.”   
Grantaire took Enjolras’ hand and kissed his knuckles. “Go downstairs, get some food. you look exhausted. 

He was about halfway down the stairs when he reappeared in the lab, legs still moving in the vague motion of descending stairs. He shook off the feeling and helped Emily get him out of the machine, having enough experience by now to know what to pull off and how. He came out feeling refreshed, more rested than he had in days.

“Alright, is there anything you need to tell us, Grantaire?” Rachel asked as he descended and redressed. 

“I mean, the dream was normal, if you…”

“I’m talking about the fact that you haven’t been sleeping.”

Grantaire looked to Emily, who shrugged. “What? How did you know I wasn’t sleeping?”

Rachel cocked an eyebrow. “Oh? Are you not? Thank you for confirming it. I thought the gradual but inevitable circles under your eyes indicated something.” She tapped her chin with her pencil. “Why do you think that is?”

Grantaire cleared his throat awkwardly. “I, uh, had some suspicions that I might be… maybe relying on the Animus too much. I can’t sleep without it.”

Rachel hummed. “That’s what I was afraid of. We’re going to adjust some things, but we’ll need you back here tomorrow, bright and early. Try to get some sleep.”

~*~

Grantaire obeyed, and tried desperately to get something resembling a good night’s rest, but only ended up tossing and turning for hours on end. He longed for the nightmares again. At least then, he knew his body was getting some sleep.

~*~

Being back in the Animus felt like floating in a warm pool after years of drought. If Grantaire were a less poetic man, he’d describe it as refreshing.

This dream was straight out of one of his paintings, wherein Marius, the young lover, sat on one of the tables of the Musian and chattered away about some girl, presumably Cosette, while Joly, their doctor, stitched up a little cut he’d gotten on his cheek. 

An easel sat in front of him, a half-finished painting of the scene before him, just as it had done months ago before he handed it over to his therapist, who then turned it into Rachel.

He was jerked back to the present moment when he heard his name. 

"Grantaire, you yourself could not paint her beauty, for it resounds through my soul even now, like a drumbeat on high." Marius babbled, only ceasing to wince each time Joly's needle added a stitch to his cheek.

Grantaire smirked behind his canvas. "I have painted her, Marius. We’ve met several times." He chuckled. 

"Truly? Surely your painting, while brilliant, is not nearly as beautiful as she. Have you met her?" Marius asked, bleary eyes wandering up to the ceiling.

“Marius, you’re the one who introduced us!” He said with a laugh.

Joly chuckled softly to himself. “It’s nice to know the brandy is kicking in. He needed something strong to numb the pain.”

Jehan, their poet and resident romantic entered the already cramped side room of the Café Musian. "Gentlemen, how many of you were injured?"

"Most of them that went." Grantaire didn't even need look up from his canvas to know it was true. Whatever raid or protest they’d staged, it had clearly been broken up. "Great lot of buffoons they were."

"Jehan!" Courfeyrac shoved his way through the crowd to reach the new comer. 

"Courfeyrac, what happened?!" Jehan threw himself at the other, hugging him tightly.

"Police broke it up." Courfeyrac said, confirming Grantaire’s suspicions. He cringed when smiling caused his bruising eye to ache. "But, I stole something for you.” He pulled a billy club from his belt and laid it in Jehan’s open palms.

“You shouldn’t have  _ stolen _ .” Jehan chided, blushing, clearly enamoured.

“You didn’t have a weapon, what else was I supposed to-” Courfeyrac stopped speaking when he caught sight of something over Jehan’s shoulder.

The entire room silenced, all but Grantaire’s heavy, uncensored laugh.

“Grantaire.” Jehan called softly for the man’s attention.

He looked up from his painting, his jaw dropped open. 

Grantaire leapt up the second he saw Enjolras in the doorway, running forward to his lover and reaching for damp, pink tinted curls. He was bleeding, and his arm hung limp by his side. “Enjolras,  _ Mon Dieu! _ What happened?!”

Enjolras’ jacket was gently removed by Joly, who also removed his shirt in search of the source of blood. Joly ushered him back to the table. Grantaire followed eagerly, his hands never leaving a piece of Enjolras’ body.

“Why are you even here, Grantaire? You don’t believe anything, much less your own lover’s cause.” Enjolras glared at him sourly.

“‘I don’t like what you have to say, but I will fight to the death so that you have the freedom to say it.’” Grantaire barked back.

Enjolras prickled. “Who said that?”

“Are you asking who’s speaking, or who I’m quoting?”

“Who you’re quoting.”

Grantaire opened his mouth with every intention to tell him about The Friends Of Voltaire, about the woman, Evelyn Beatrice Hall, who wrote that in the book in the first place, but his words stopped in the base of his throat. If  _ his _ Enjolras was right, if this really was the past, then Evelyn Beatrice Hall hadn’t written that book yet- she wouldn’t for another hundred and fifty years.

_ Shit. _

“I… I don’t remember.” He lied. “It’s not important. What’s important is that I.  _ love _ . You.”

Enjolras shoved Grantaire away with his good elbow, his eyes narrowed. “You are a coward, and a liar.” He hissed low and barely loud enough to hear. 

Joly glanced nervously between the two of them, but Grantaire motioned for him to stay. Enjolras needed the medical care that their friend offered.

Grantaire stepped back, frown pulling at the corners of his mouth. “Am I a coward for staying here, worried about my own life?” He cocked his head and sat on the edge of his stool, still at an angle from his easel. “Am I a liar for not fighting with you?”

"You are a liar when your claim for me is love, yet your cowardice will not protect France." Enjolras' voice rose, his lips tightening.

"My love for you," Grantaire stood, hands flourishing erratically, voice raising. "Is far more than my love of France!”

“ _ I  _ _ am _ _ France!”  _ Enjolras roard; he tore his bleeding arm away from Joly, the man squeaking in shock.

“Gentlemen!” Combeferre interrupted them from the doorway. “Put off this bantering! We have a greater cause than this!”

Grantaire turned his fury on the most sound-of-mind out of all his friends. “I have no greater cause than our  _ leader’s-” _ He spat the word vehemently at the man he spoke of. “-Love and adoration, but I remain second to an ungrateful people!”

Enjolras’ hand shot out and curled in Grantaire’s crazed hair. “How  _ dare you  _ think that I love anything more than you!” Enjolras growled, his mouth finding Grantaire’s in an angry, bruising kiss.

Grantaire gave himself over fully to the kiss, both hands gripping Enjolras’ hips and pressing him as close as possible. 

“Appalling, the both of you.” Combeferre eyes rolled into the back of his head.

“My bed.” Enjolras growled around Grantaire’s bottom lip, loud enough for the whole room to hear, and rough enough to shock them all back into silence.

“Your bed.” Grantaire agreed fervently.

“Be wary of your arm!” Joly called after their friends, ever attached as they were.

“He will be as soon as it pains him.” Combeferre clapped his friend on the shoulder reassuringly. “Come. Let us work.”

~*~

The vultures were already circling when he came out of his dream.

“We looked into possible reasons for your sleeplessness.” Emily said softly, leaning against her command centre in a forced effort to look casual. 

“Oh?” 

Rachel, ever the bad-cop, decided to choose this moment as her opportunity to intercede.  “Why haven’t you filled out your prescription yet, Grantaire?”

He stared at her in shock. “Uh, I haven’t really…”

“Had time?” Rachel finished for him, a razor sharp edge to her voice.

“Grantaire…” Emily said softly. “The medicine is very important to your healing. If you aren’t taking it when you don’t have appointments, then the Animus can’t do anything for you.”

He huffed. “What’s the point, then? If the medicine helps me sleep, how do you know that the Animus is working? How do you know it’s not just the pills?”

There was silence for a beat while Rachel and Emily exchanged looks, Rachel’s ferocious and Emily’s apprehensive. 

Finally, Emily spoke up. “Grantaire, the Animus is a  _ dream _ therapy machine, not a  _ sleep _ therapy machine. What it seems to be doing is helping your brain cope with the dreams, and turn them into something good. It’s behaving exactly as planned in that regard. But your body still isn’t getting the sleep it needs.”

Grantaire groaned. “Fine, fine, I’ll get the prescription filled on my way out.”

“There’s a pharmacy just down the street.” Rachel gave him a very poorly concealed satisfied sneer. “I’d hurry. They close soon.”

And he did.

The slip of paper with his prescription on it was still in his jacket pocket from the day Rachel gave it to him. He closed his fist around it in earnest. Rachel was the one with the flash drive full of secrets, not Emily. Emily knew what she was talking about. Maybe he couldn’t  _ trust _ her, per se, but there was certainly merit to the things she had to say. 

~*~

It wasn’t until the last day of school, after his finals had wrapped and he was finally finished Studying that he took his medication for the first time, as the instructions said, in the morning, with food.

He then wandered up to the library to return all of the books he could find, hoping to run into Enjolras again.

Grantaire seemed to be struck with a stroke of good luck lately. He hoped it would spill over onto his finals marks. 

“Hey there.” Grantaire said smoothly, leaning against the checkout counter across from a reading Enjolras, one who was so enraptured in whatever he was reading that he didn’t seem to even register Grantaire’s presence. 

Grantaire sighed. It was very rude to jolt someone out of whatever they were doing, especially when one didn’t  _ actually have any books to check out _ and therefore was technically loitering. 

He pulled a bookmark from the stack of free ones next to him and jotted a little note down on it before sliding it across the counter to rest right under Enjolras’ elbow.

_ Enj, _

_ How about a date night to celebrate the end of finals? _

_ Grantaire. _

Apparently, a voice or sound was pointless, but someone invading his personal bubble was sure to get his attention. Enjolras jerked with a start when the bookmark came to rest, shutting his book impulsively with a snap. His eyes lurched to Grantaire’s handwriting and scanned it quickly before finally looking up to see Grantaire there, waiting.

“Oh, uh… how long have you been standing there?” Enjolras gave him a puzzled look. 

“Not long. I didn’t want to pull you out of your book, I’ve heard that’s quite rude.” Grantaire gave him his most charming smile. “What are you reading?”

“This?” He held it up for Grantaire to see the cover. “‘ _ The Friends Of Voltaire’ _ ? Just a bit of light reading.”

Grantaire chuckled, rolling his eyes. “Sure, Hermione.”

Enjolras held it out to him. “Would you, uh, would you like to try it out?”

He stared at it, but made no move to take it from him. “What is it about?”

Enjolras answered quickly, as though he’d rehearsed. “Ten men, all of whom know and love Voltaire recount stories of knowing him.”

“Is it true?”

Enjolras shook his head stoutly. “Fiction, I’m afraid. Still a great read.”

Grantaire shrugged and received it, taking his chances. “Thank you.”

“As for this,” Enjolras held up the bookmark with Grantaire’s chicken scratch on the back. “I think a movie date is in order.”

~*~

“Do you have a preference of what we see?” Enjolras asked as their place in line drew closer to the Box office.

Grantaire shrugged. “I’ll watch anything, but I do particularly like Historical things. You know, History major and all.”

“I prefer Dramas myself.” Enjolras countered.

“So… A historical drama? A combination of the two?” Grantaire suggested.

“That sounds like the perfect blend to me.” Enjolras said, scanning the boards above the box office to find a movie most appropriate to their combined tastes. He then stepped forward and asked the attendant for two of which one he wanted, along with the nearest time, and handed over his credit card without waiting for Grantaire.

“I could have paid for my own, you know.” Grantaire said, frowning. 

“You could have, but this is a date, Grantaire.” Enjolras chided, receiving his tickets before taking Grantaire's arm and leading him away, into the theatre. “Our first real proper date, really.”

“What? All those other miscellaneous activities don’t count as dates?” Grantaire smirked.

Enjolras’ eyes flicked over to his face, and he paused in his tracks. “Hang on, Grantaire, you’ve got a little something…” He licked his thumb before wiping it on the corner of Grantaire’s mouth. “There. Got it.”

“W-what did I have?” He sputtered, marginally horrified.

“Just a bit of sarcasm leaking out. Don’t worry, I seem to have cleared it up.”

Grantaire rolled his eyes. “Oi, you, funny, that.”

Enjolras dove back for a second wipe, only to be batted away playfully. 

Grantaire chuckled, keeping Enjolras’ hand in his own. “Yeah, yeah, I get it, I’m a cheeky bastard. Let’s get going, yeah?”

“Lead the way. I have no idea where we’re going.” Enjolras entwined their fingers together, dragging Grantaire into the tiny theatre. 

“It’s on the ticket, dumbass.” Grantaire took them from Enjolras and peered at them, holding them entirely too close to his face. “House three.”

“So smart. So witty. Your charm will surely awe nations.” Enjolras beamed, leaning up to kiss his cheek. 

Grantaire’s chestnut cheeks reddened. “And if they aren’t sufficiently charmed, then you’ll just burn them to the ground, I suppose?”

“Oh my god, this car thing has got to stop.” Enjolras groaned, shoving past Grantaire and shuffling through the half-full theatre in an attempt to find some seats. “Let’s just not talk about… what I consider our work. No matter how much I want to tell you about the patient I’ve been reading about, no matter how much I want to find them…”

“What would you do with the patient if you could find them?” Grantaire asked curiously, trying to stay calm.

“Try to get the full story so I can build a case against these people. They need to be brought to justice, as secretly as possible. They shouldn’t have to be exposed just to bring this Duncan woman to jail.” Enjolras sighed, shaking his head. “Damn it, I said I wouldn’t talk about work.”

“Sorry.” Grantaire gave him a wary smile, not sure if Enjolras was being serious or not, if he was playing along to the joke or if he actually wanted everyone to stop bringing up what he might consider the worst moment in his adult life. Grantaire had no way of knowing. He couldn’t read this enjolras as well as he’d like, couldn’t just look at him and know exactly why he was mad at him this time or why he needed something done or what he’d just said that Grantaire didn’t hear because he was still synchronizing with the dream. 

But that Enjolras was a lie, a fiction, something that Rachel Duncan made poor, sweet Emily Dawes cook up in a computer one day.

He wondered, briefly, while they took their seats, if Emily was doing okay. Gradually through their sessions, he had noticed that her eyes had less life in them, her flamboyant gestures less present, her shoulders with a bit more slump in them. Even in their time alone together while Rachel was off at investors meetings, she seemed like she was trying to look lively, but she was still off, even then.

“Enjolras,” Grantaire whispered once the other man was seated comfortably after a few long minutes of fidgeting. “Do you have any friends you’d like to invite along with us?”

Enjolras frowned. “On our dates? Why? Are you trying to say we should see other people?”

Grantaire shook his head animatedly. “No, no, of course not. It’s just… I have this... friend,” (A loosely used term) “and she seems to be a bit more lonely than usual. And her hanging out with just the two of us would be weird, so maybe if you have some friends for all of us to mingle with, it might not be so weird, and she can have the opportunity to… you know, get out of the house. Get away from her boss.”

Enjolras contemplated it for a moment before nodding. “That would be lovely, actually. Maybe get a bunch of our friends together, have a group date.”

The lights in the theatre dimmed, signaling that it was time to stop talking and start paying attention.

He blinked a couple of times, no longer in the theatre and now in a mostly-barren field behind a barn, back in his loose fitting linen shirt and vest. 

Enjolras’ voice was hazy, and he couldn’t quite make out what he was saying, but he nodded in agreement anyway. It was only polite to respect one’s lover in such a way.

“Everyone has collected weapons, Enjolras.” Combeferre interrupted, tugging him away from Grantaire. “They are waiting for your word.”

He nodded and turned to the meager group. “Alright, does anyone know how to use what they’ve got?” Most of the young men shrugged, all but Combeferre. “Combeferre,” Enjolras pointed him out immediately. “You have just volunteered to teach the gentlemen who have taken up arms how to fire properly. I shall teach the others swordplay.”

They split off into two groups, leaving Grantaire and the girls to sit in the grass, alone.

Eponine looked to Cosette, affronted. “And what if I want to learn?”

Cosette nodded in agreement. “I would love to learn. Being young women in our day is dangerous. We need a way to protect ourselves!”

“Ladies, if I may?” Grantaire interrupted politely. “Joly has a rifle that he refuses to use. Perhaps we could borrow it?”

“And he would teach us how to shoot?”

“Of course not. Do you know Joly?” Grantaire chuckled. “But I will teach you. Joly!” He called to the passing young man. “May we use your rifle?”

“Of course.” Joly handed it over willingly. “I was about to put it away anyway.”

“Thank you, my friend.” Grantaire grinned and turned to Eponine. “Alright, this is for you. Cosette, you’ll go next. Lay the end against your shoulder, like so.” Grantaire helped her put it into place, graciously pulling her hair out of the way for her and tying it back with a ribbon,  offered by Cosette. Her hair was barely tangible under his fingertips, to the point that the only way he knew that he was touching it at all was that he could see himself doing so.

“What shall I aim for, ‘Taire?” Eponine teased and whisked her rifle about (Giving Grantaire a small heart attack until he noticed her finger far from the trigger.)

“Aim for that apple tree,” He pointed to indicate the one. “That one, there. Far from anyone else.”

“I am surprised at you, Grantaire.” Cosette stepped in line with him and out of Eponine’s way. “Someone who spends so much time in pubs to know so much is a shock.”

“Many people go to bars. Many people like to talk about what they know how to do, and more often than not they are perfectly willing to share how to do certain to things. Certain things like shooting a rifle in proper conduct. Eponine? The tree.”

Eponine refocused her attention on the tree, shifting the gun just the tiniest to the side and rested it against her upper arm.

“Wait, ‘Pon-” Grantaire tried to stop her, but the shot rang out and she screamed. The bark of the tree exploded, bits flying out and flickering over faces.

“Eponine!” Cosette fell to her knees, and took her friend’s arm. Eponine screamed again.

Joly was the first to reach her. “Sh, shh, sit up, let’s see.” He checked her forehead instinctively. “Good, no fever.”

“She probably dislocated it.” Grantaire kneeled beside them, his hand going to Eponine’s. “The butt of her rifle wasn’t in the right place.”

“I can fix that.” Joly took her right arm gently. “Hold still, friend, and keep your tongue away from your teeth.” He cupped her shoulder, the one hanging limp and looking distorted, then jammed it back into place. Eponine howled.

When Grantaire woke, he did so gradually, and parts of his location came to him in pieces.

His head was laying on something rounded and a bit bony, but he was sitting up. A shoulder, probably, he must have fallen asleep on someone’s shoulder.

There was a distinct smell of popcorn and wet leather in the air, and he could feel the dried spittle on the corner of his mouth. It wasn't uncommon for him to drool, but it was marginally embarrassing when it was on someone else’s shoulder.

He jerked up, terrified, wiping his mouth in the same moment. “Shit,” He muttered to himself as he straightened both his jumper and his hair as quickly and erratically as he could. “Shit, I’m so sorry.”

Enjolras shook his head and tapped a single finger to his lips.

Grantaire nodded, acknowledging the silent gesture before panicking. He ducked low and ran out of the theatre, out of the building entirely. 

“...Drooled on him, fucking  _ dumbass. _ ” He grumbled both to and at himself, rummaging in his pockets for a lighter to match the cigarette he’d already fished out and wedged between his lips. “ _ Fuck.” _

There was a click and a flame appeared before him, lighting the end of the cigarette already in his mouth. He puffed it gently, bewildered, so that the light would keep.

Enjolras, for of course that was who had held the lighter, smiled at him gently, closing it with a click and shoving it back in his pocket.

“Why did you follow me?” Grantaire asked, taking his cigarette out of his mouth.

“Why did you leave?” Enjolras returned smartly. “The movie wasn’t even over.”

He shook his head. “I fell asleep on you, Enj. That wasn’t cool.”

Enjolras shrugged and literally waved it off. “It’s getting late anyway. Plus, you always look tired. You’re allowed to sleep.”

Grantaire took a drag from his cigarette to calm himself, but also as an excuse to avoid Enjolras’ eyes. 

They stood in silence on the street for entirely too long, in both of their opinions. 

Finally, Enjolras broke it cautiously. “I’m… I’m just glad you didn’t suggest we go to dinner. At least in this situation, I’m more prone to assume you thought  _ the movie _ was boring, and not me. I don’t think my ego could take it if I was lamenting some governmental tragedy and you fell face first into your soup.” He tucked a strand of hair behind his ear, using the motion to duck his head and excuse himself from Grantaire's harsh, yet confused stare.

His eyes crinkled as his frown upturned itself. “I could never think you were boring.”

Enjolras perked up. “Huh? Really?”

“You’ve caught a car on fire, for god’s sake. How could I ever find that boring?”

Enjolras blushed slightly, and after a moment, he spoke up again. “Uh, so this movie… you already missed the first half, and it wasn’t really going anywhere. Do you want to-”

“Yes.” Grantaire answered instantly.

Enjolras gave him a coy smirk. “You don’t even know what I was going to ask.”

“If it has anything to do with being around you, I am all in.”

Enjolras’ sigh sounded more like a breathless chuckle than anything, but Grantaire couldn’t be sure. “I guess I was trying to pluck up the courage to ask you back to my place, but you seem to have solved that problem quite efficiently. Thank you.”

“Well,” Grantaire swept Enjolras’ hand up to press a kiss to his knuckles. “You’re very welcome.”

“You’re a dork.” Enjolras chuckled, rolling his eyes.

Grantaire had barely set foot in Enjolras’ apartment, had barely gotten only one of his shoes off when the other attacked him, hands buried in his thick, dark hair and lips pressed to his in a warm and inviting embrace. 

He stripped off Enjolras’ coat automatically, eager to get to the warmth underneath. 

The other’s hands were already moving from his hair to his neck to his back to his waistband, finding their way under his shirt and up his back. 

Grantaire nipped his bottom lip, shivering at Enjolras’ still frigid fingers brushing down his spine. He let out a soft, involuntary moan.

But in that instant, they were gone, disappeared from his skin in a moment.

He broke off to mumble “...Enj?”

“I’m sorry.” Enjolras whispered. “I… I can’t do this. Not right now.”

“I understand.” He took a step back, adjusting his shirt back to its original position. “I totally get it. We aren’t… there yet.”

Enjolras brushed his hair back with his fingers. “I’m not saying that I wouldn’t like to get to that point, Grantaire, it’s only that I have a lot of work to do…”

“I get it.” Grantaire leaned over, pecked his cheek. “And I’d love to spend more time with you. Maybe you should come to tea sometime?”

“You want me… to come to tea?” Enjolras didn’t frown in confusion like he usually did, only let give the smallest quirk of a confused smile.

“Yeah, tea. With my roommates.” 

“And what makes you think I’d appreciate their company?”

Grantaire snorted. “What makes you think you’re the one with high standards?”

Enjolras shrugged. “I’m not usually partial to college boys. We belong to the same demographic, but we couldn’t be more different.”

“What made you say yes to me, then?”

“What do you mean?”

“That first night in the library. I asked if you wanted to grab coffee with me, you know, a casual date kind of thing, something to let us feel each other out, but you upped it to dinner.” Grantaire smirked as though he’d won something. 

Enjolras’s cheeks tinted with the tiniest bit of petal pink; he averted his eyes. “I wasn’t sure if any coffee places would be open…”

“Or you knew you wanted dinner and you were hoping I wouldn’t notice.”

“I’m not denying that could be the case.” Enjolras said in a stilted manner. 

Grantaire chuckled. “That’s adorable.”

“What is?”

“You get all posh when you’re in denial.” He leaned down to peck Enjolras’ cheek. “I’ve got to go.”

“Text me when you get home so I know you’re safe.” He called out after Grantaire’s retreating back. 

~*~

This time, Grantaire literally woke up inside the Animus, a book splayed out on his chest and a fire crackling beside him, gradually dying from the lack of tending it was receiving. 

Suddenly, the door to his apartment opened suddenly, Enjolras nearly collapsing as he entered through it, dripping wet and shaking.

“Enjolras?!” Grantaire leapt up from his couch and supported the other man as best as he could. “What happened?”

“Our demonstration was rained upon.” Enjolras muttered through chattering teeth. “It began nearly five hours ago, the rain followed by about a half an hour, by my estimate.”

“You moron.” Grantaire seethed, stripping Enjolras of his wet, sopping clothes with two or three moves. “Don’t tell Joly of this, but I shall treat you myself. Go.” He ushered him to his wardrobe. “Change into something warm. I’ll go split wood for the fire.”

“You’re going to build me a fire?” Enjolras looked up at Grantaire through wet bangs with an odd look on his face, some combination of confusion and appreciation.

“Darling, I would build you any fire you should wish for me to build you. I would do absolutely anything for you.” He pressed a kiss to his soggy blond curls.

“Grantaire,” Enjolras’ teeth chattered, hand shaking as he cupped Grantaire’s cheek. “I am cold. And while I have a great affinity for you, especially when you wax poetic of your affections, I must admit I am quite in need of a fire now. So if you could stop talking and start chopping, that would be great.”

“Right.” Grantaire got up and went outside, shivering as he gathered wood to be split. 

When he returned, Enjolras was already on his couch, shivering under a blanket.

Grantaire shuffled around his pillbox apartment silently, stoking the fire and setting the rest of the wood off to the side. 

“Grantaire.” Enjolras mumbled, reaching out of his cocoon. Grantaire turned to him after building the fire. “Come to me. Keep me warm.”

Grantaire complied, crawling under Enjolras, along with every blanket in his house, and tried not to get crushed by the weight of it all.

Enjolras curled on top of him, one hand resting on Grantaire’s chest, just at the point where his shirt untied, revealing a black curly mane of chest hair. Enjolras smiled. “You have hair  _ everywhere _ .” He fiddled with the curls. “It’s so masculine.”

“And you.... You like that I’m masculine?” Grantaire asked, chuckling. It was such a ridiculous thing for Enjolras to point out. Of course he was masculine. If not for the hair on his chest, he still had a square jaw and broad shoulders, thick arms and wide feet.

“As opposed to?” Enjolras half-laughed.

Grantaire rolled his eyes. “Being feminine? That’s the only alternative, really.” He kept the  _ in this day and age _ to himself while the words coming out of his mouth turned to something a bit more self deprecating. “I’d have no hair, but that on my head. Perhaps a smaller nose, or even a thinner jaw-” His train of thought was cut off by a soft, chilled set of lips pressing to his own. “...What was that?”

“I like kissing you.” Enjolras mumbled. “It keeps you from saying such ridiculous things.”

“Ridiculous things?”

“You are not ugly in my eyes.” Enjolras mumbled “In fact, your manhood is very appealing to me.” He chuckled. “Mean to say, your masculinity. Not your.. uh... manhood. Although, that is quite…”

Grantaire snickered at his bashfulness. “Quite what?”

The timid smile fell from Enjolras’ blue-tinged lips. “I think I'd like to sleep now.” Enjolras said firmly.

Grantaire nodded silently, his chin bumping Enjolras a bit.

His hand clenched in Grantaire’s shirt, getting his attention. “You must know by now that I cannot love something with only half my heart.”

“Your passion is sometimes too much. You’re going to get yourself hurt.” Grantaire failed to hide the venom from his voice.

Enjolras scoffed. “I’m trying to tell you I love you, Grantaire-”

“But-”

“-And that I cannot love you with only half of my heart.”

It felt as though a weight was lifted from his chest; his legs wove themselves around Enjolras’. “I love you too.”

“I know.” Enjolras gave him a small smile. “If you could shout it from the rooftops, I know you would.”

“If I could sing I would do that too.” Grantaire tugged their blanket up until it was around Enjolras’ ears.

“Please, do  _ not _ sing.” Enjolras moaned playfully. Grantaire laughed loudly, chest vibrating and disrupting Enjolras slightly. when he quieted, he noticed Enjolras peering at him, features hardened. “Last night…” Enjolras said cautiously. “Do you remember that night, the one when you told me that my efforts were fruitless unless I was to kill that man? You also told me that you were in love with me.”

Grantaire nodded slowly, waiting for his love to reach a concluding thought. “Is that why you’re wet? Were you not at your demonstration? Were you out looking for more soldiers?”

“Quiet, Grantaire, let me think aloud.” He held up a shaking hand. “I say this because as I walked home today, I saw a poster proclaiming us ‘The Rats of Paris’. It had a ransom posted for a hooded figure with a dagger like the one you gave me. I can’t help but think that that man is me, and that the ‘Rats of Paris’ are finally being seen as rebels with a cause by our King. All of my ambitions have been realized because you told me to slaughter a young man that fateful night.”

Grantaire was silent for a long moment, the only sound being the crackle of slowly burning longs. “His life was a small stone in the foundation of your crusade.”

Enjolras snorted cynically. “How strange it is to me that you believe in me more passionately than I believe in change, yet I take you as a cynic.”

“Strange indeed.” Grantaire hummed.

“And how poetic you are, even when…” Enjolras interrupted himself with a yawn.

“Sleep, my love.” Grantaire whispered, kissing Enjolras’ forehead. He felt so solid in The Animus, so real, unlike in the dreams he’d been having outside of the device. Even when the smaller man faded away, he could still feel the weight of him on his chest.

As the lab faded into view, he realized the weight on his chest wasn’t that of his Enjolras at all. It was the heavy realization that the one from his past wasn’t  _ his _ at all. He belonged to his ancestor. The Enjolras that was truly his was here, in Paris, most likely eagerly awaiting a text back from Grantaire.

“His vitals are normal.” Emily was saying to Rachel, the latter tapping away on her padd. “He’s awake.”

“Good morning, Grantaire.” Rachel barely spared him a glance. “I hear you’re starting to have dreams with similar themes outside of the Animus.”

Grantaire nodded, but upon realizing that she wouldn’t be looking at him for a bit, spoke aloud. “Yes.”

“Are they pleasant?”

Grantaire shrugged. “They sometimes have traumatic themes, but I don’t wake up screaming when that happens. My roommate says I’ve been sleeping peacefully too, no screaming.”

“That’s very good.” She jotted something down. “I’m glad to hear it’s working for you. That means we can move forward in our testing.”

~*~

On their next date, they decided on a night in, one with take-out and a movie on Enjolras’ couch. They had a bit of trouble, of course, in the ‘picking a movie’ department, which they filled with idle conversation.

“You have what, one more semester before you graduate?” Enjolras asked.

Grantaire shook his head. “Two. I’ve got to finish out school at my home university, but I’m spending a year here.”

Enjolras hummed his understanding. “Where are you going to be staying when you get back to school? With Robert?”

“Are you implying something?” Grantaire smirked gently, shoving at Enjolras’ leg with his toes playfully. 

“What would I be implying?” Enjolras asked, ignoring him in favor of scrolling through the films they could download and watch for free.

“That you’d want me to move in with you.” Grantaire said, voice bold but heart palpitating nervously. What if that wasn’t what Enjolras was saying? What if this guy didn’t like him like that, or he thought Grantaire was moving too fast?

“Is that what you want?” He responded nonchalantly, almost as if he were on autopilot. 

That caught Grantaire off guard. “Well… I’m just… unsure, I guess.”

“About what to watch?” Enjolras hummed, clicking on to the next page of titles on the screen. 

“You know… us.” Grantaire said with a shrug. “I just don’t… I mean, Paris and London are in two entirely different countries. How are we supposed to make this work?” He paused, swallowed. “I mean, if this is even… you know, a  _ this _ .” 

Enjolras frowned at that, finally setting down his magazine in lieu of listening to Grantaire. “What do you mean, ‘is this a this’? That’s an unsettlingly vague sentence.”

Grantaire sighed dramatically. “Is this, what we’re doing here, going on all these dates and sleeping together and breaking into major corporations… is it dating?”

“We go on dates, if that’s what you mean.” Enjolras said casually.

Grantaire groaned. “God, it’s like talking to someone from an alternate reality… You don’t see the world the same way everyone else does Enjolras.”

“Wow, way to make me out like some two-bit Manic Pixie Dream Girl, Jesus…” Enjolras’ head twitched in an unconscious attempt to get his hair out of his face.

“Are you my boyfriend or not?” Grantaire snapped, both with his voice and with a click of his fingers in Enjolras’ direction.

Enjolras stared at him, face devoid of any one predominant emotion. “No.”

Grantaire’s features drooped to a crestfallen look. “W-what? Why not?”

Enjolras cocked his head at him, looking so innocent, damn him. “You never asked me.”

Grantaire softened, if only marginally. “Well… You could have asked me.” 

“I could have, you’re not wrong.” Enjolras said, sitting up on the couch to face Grantaire head on. He folded his hands in his lap. “But… To be honest, Grantaire, I wasn’t sure if you actually wanted to be with me like that or not.”

“You… you’re kidding, right?” Grantaire balked. “You’re…. Well, you’re you! You’re this amazing, transcendental, celestial thing and I’ve somehow been lucky enough to be swept up in your gravity.”

Enjolras stared at him, an odd smile on his face, some mixture of dazed and happy. “Grantaire, what…. How am I supposed to respond to that?”

Grantaire shrugged. “It’s none of my business whether you respond or not. You never have to say anything to me, because I’m already paying attention to something else about you that I love.”

Enjolras sighed. “Grantaire, I… I’ve been caught up in a lot of things, things where I put my heart out there on the line only to find out that we were just friends, or they didn’t want to go as fast as I was taking it.”

“Are you saying that you don’t-”

“I want you.” Enjolras interrupted, rising from his spot on the couch and stepping over the coffee table so he could stand right in front of Grantaire. “I want you more than water, more than air.” He crawled into Grantaire’s lap, straddling his thighs and immediately burying both of his hands in Grantaire’s thick black hair, running his fingers through it to detangle some of the curls. “I want you so badly that I don’t want to fuck it up by putting labels on anything without your permission.”

“You don’t need my permission to label me.” Grantaire bumped their noses together, trying to be adorable but ultimately just shocking Grantaire. “I’m already yours to label.”

“I didn’t want to risk-”

“The reward is worth it.” Grantaire assured him, one hand rubbing up and down Enjolras’ back.

Enjolras bent his head ever so slightly to press their lips together, Hands tightening in Grantaire’s hair. “I’ll call you at least once a week.” Enjolras embedded his promises into Grantaire’s lips with each new kiss between words. “I’ll come visit once a month at the very least. I’ll pay for your tickets to come to me too.”

“You don’t have to pay for-”

Enjolras shut him up with more kisses. “I have rich parents who will be glad I’ve settled down with a nice starving artist type who has absolutely no desire to run around Paris lighting cars on fire or staging protests and strikes. They’d even pay for half of an apartment for you if it means I’d be out of their hair for a weekend once a month.”

Grantaire hummed playfully, as if he was considering it. “Well, if they wouldn’t mind…”

Enjolras swatted his shoulder gently, teasing him. “Don’t milk my parents.” His Surface beeped, drawing his attention away from the man he was straddling. “Shit, it’s done.” He climbed off and resumed his seat; he began to tap away.”

“What’s done?” Grantaire smoothed down his hair from where Enjolras has messed it up.

“Oh, I was decrypting the last folder on the hard drive. It was locked for some reason, my bet is that it has the test subject information in it.” He said casually.

Grantaire paled. Of course. Of fucking course Rachel didn’t keep the information on him exclusively on a hard drive that was  _ that _ easy to find. Of course she made a copy and encrypted it. God, how stupid do you have to be?

“Ah ha! Patient R.” Enjolras grinned. 

Grantaire stood suddenly. “Enjolras, you remember when you said that you wanted the patient to come forward?”

Enjolras looked up at him curiously. “Yeah, and?”

“And you’d do anything to protect that person?”

“Sure, of course.”

“And you wouldn’t be mad at said patient for keeping their patient status a secret from you?”

Enjolras blinked at him, then his eyes widened in abject surprise. “Holy shit.”

“What?” 

“It’s you. You’re the patient.” Enjolras accused, gaping at him. 

Grantaire stayed silent and nodded solemnly.

“This is… amazing, Grantaire.” Enjolras gape upturned itself into a smile. “This-”

His Surface beeped again, drawing his attention away.

“What is it?” He sat down beside him again, this time closer.

“There’s a video.” Enjolras said, setting his computer on the coffee table.

“Are you asking me if I want to watch it?”

“You said you always wanted to see what you looked like in the animus. This might be your chance.”

“Is that what the video is about?”

Enjolras shrugged. “I don’t know yet. Haven’t watched it.”

Grantaire came to sit beside him on the couch. “Play it, then.”

Enjolras double clicked the file and a new window popped up, then began playing on its own.

It was from a low angle, most likely a camera sitting on the table laid out in front of it, one that stretched far until it came to a halt by a woman’s waist, one who was standing at the end with a projector screen behind her. “Are we on?” she asked, her voice familiar and lukewarm.

Someone from behind the camera assured her they were rolling, and she turned to the surface board behind her, her long blonde hair swaying when she moved. 

“Today is April Third, and this is our fourth meeting of this council.” The woman said. “And we finally have our man.”

The council murmured amongst themselves, and the woman clicked a button; the surface hummed to life. A photo of Grantaire appeared on the screen.

“Holy-” Enjolras started.

“What the shit?!” Grantaire exclaimed, sitting forward quickly.

“He’s been experiencing dreams since he arrived in Paris as a student, and he’d never experienced symptoms like this before. According to his therapist, his dreams are consistent and Victorian, which means the records are recent enough that we can trace any repercussions of our actions, and quite basically, see if this actually works.”

“Is that not the experiment?” One man at the table asked. “What are we getting paid for?”

There was some polite laughter.

“We’ve gone into his family tree, and he has several ancestors in the victorian era, but granted, it is quite a big gap in time. I’ll have to have a one on one meeting with him to get more information, and potentially find out if he’s been called a name in these dreams.”

“You’re sure about him?”

The woman nodded her head in the affirmative. “I’m fairly certain he’s experiencing a ripple in ancestry. I’m hell bent on finding out, anyway.”

“Excellent. Well.” A man at the table who looked to have some sort of power said. “I’ll sign off on the project. All in favor?”

A unanimous cry of ‘yea’ echoed around the table, and the video froze, the timer at the bottom showing that it was finished. 

Grantaire stared at the screen, dumbfounded. “This isn’t possible. This isn’t…”

“Who is this woman?” Enjolras squinted at the screen.

“Fuck!” Grantaire stood from the couch and paced about the living room angrily. “Fucking… God! I don’t know who she is, goddamnit! I’ve never seen her before!”

“In all fairness, the picture’s kind of blurry. Maybe you do know her and you can’t tell.”

“Fine then, Enhance the image or something.” Grantaire flailed an arm in his direction flippantly.

“That isn’t how that works.” Enjolras frowned. “This isn’t TV.”

“Fine, fine.” Grantaire crossed his arms and sat back into the couch. “Show me again, maybe I’ve seen her in the halls at the Lab or something.”

“Hang on, hang on, There’s a list of people who were scheduled to attend that meeting, it’s in the same file.” Enjolras pulled the file to the middle of his Surface, enlarged it so Grantaire could see, and began scrolling. “Be patient for four seconds.”

“I can be patient when I want to be.” Grantaire murmured, mostly to himself. 

“Yeah right, prove it.” Enjolras grumbled back, skimming the list on his screen. “Looks like the only woman’s name on this list is Rachel Duncan, the CEO. She said she’d met you, surely you know her.”

Grantaire’s brow furrowed. “Yeah, but she doesn’t look like that lady. Her hair is cut into  a bob, a short one.”

“Hair can be cut.” Enjolras pointed to Grantaire’s messy mop of hair. “Speaking of which, I know a barber-”

“Not now.” Grantaire waved him off, sitting down beside him again, this time with a squirming cat who had decided all of this affection from his owner wasn’t so great after all. “This is the woman who spoke to me my Third session.”

“Third session?!” Enjolras gawked. “Your therapist has got to be in on it, then. If she reported to them that quickly, she had to be actively looking for a test subject.”

Grantaire scrolled through the other files listed on the screen, until he found a second folder, this one labeled ‘emails’. “Shit, check it out.” He double tapped it and a new window with a list of thousands of email threads popped open.

Enjolras hummed. “They seem to be labeled by who they’re between…” He clicked on one for reasons Grantaire would never know, then began to read aloud.

“Rachel Duncan to Emily Dawes: ‘I need results on why Patient R couldn’t control his dream on April 18th. Be prompt.’ Thirteen minutes later, we have a response from Emily Dawes to Rachel Duncan: ‘I’m not 100% sure but I have a theory. Patient R is clearheaded and non-responsive to violence, unlike his ancestor. His initial reaction would be to leave the man, but it is historically sound that Enjolras was accused of murder in the second degree near the date to which we sent him. Perhaps changing events that are concrete is not something this machine can do.’ The next morning, Rachel Duncan replies, saying: ‘This is potential evidence that time is a fixed loop, but I want to be sure that this is not just a hiccup in the machine or a user error of Patient R’s medication. Further tests needed.’” Enjolras sat back, sinking into the couch. “Interesting.”

“Interesting?! Enj, this is my brain they’re experimenting with, my body, my life they’re talking about!” Grantaire tried to keep his voice down, but his tone was very,  _ very _ clear. 

“Technically, it’s your ancestor’s life they’re talking about.” Enjolras mumbled, mostly to himself. He didn’t have much of a filter when he was focused like this. 

“It’s my body, though.”

Enjolras sighed. “You’ve got to confront them. Turn them in.”

“What?!” Grantaire balked. “No, I’m supposed to be anonymous, I’m supposed to just keep going and finding information. I’m not coming forward about anything.”

“But Grantaire, you-”

“No!” He snapped, standing abruptly. “I’m not going to the cops with this. I’ll give you all the information you need, but my name stays out of it.”

“I can’t build a case out of a blind witness, no one is going to buy that.” He protested.

“No! You said you’d keep my name out of it, you  _ said _ !”

“I know I did, I know, but-”

“No!” Grantaire snapped. “No. I’m not doing that.” He stood, snatching up his bag and jacket. “You know what? I’m out. I’m done.”

“No, Grantaire, wait-”

“No!” He barked, throwing on his jacket and stomping out of the apartment, leaving Enjolras alone and desolate.

~*~

The Cold shoulder lasted 22 hours and six minutes, by Grantaire’s count. 

It was on that sixth minute of that twenty-second hour that Grantaire, sitting alone in his apartment, received a knock on the door.

He shuffled up to answer it, not bothering to check the peephole. 

“Hey.” Enjolras said softly when he opened the door. “Uh… are your roommates home?” 

“They all went back to the U.K for Christmas.” He replied dryly, holding out his foot to stop Fuzz Lightyear from escaping. “And Nick took Flufflepuff.”

“Oh, so… you’re alone for the holiday. I see.” He said softly, playing with his hands nervously. “Why haven’t you-”

“Why are you here?” Grantaire snapped, cutting him off.

“Grantaire, I…” Enjolras sighed and rummaged through his backpack until he found his padd. “I was reading through the files that we stole-”

“Yeah, I know that.” He responded shortly.

“Don’t be like that.” Enjolras snapped back. “I found the notes.”

Grantaire rolled his eyes. “Apparently it’s only science if you write it down. Literally every person I have interacted with in the last six months has taken notes on me.”

“Your therapist's notes.” Enjolras clarified, holding them out to him. “You… you talked to her about me?”

“Not… exactly.” Grantaire took the padd from him and scrolled through the hand scrawled digital notes.

“Then why is my name everywhere? I mean, she has more notes on me than on the dreams themselves.”

“Enjolras, why are you here?” He didn’t take his eyes away from the notes. God, they were practically transcripts; they were word for word. “I thought you were still mad because I refused to testify.”

A heavy silence lingered in the doorway between them, neither of them even taking a breath. He could feel the prickle under his skin of Enjolras’ lingering eyes, and it was, quite frankly, unsettling and arousing all at the same time. 

Enjolras broke the silence with a gentle sigh and a fucking sledgehammer. “You said… you said I was ethereal.”

Grantaire froze.

Enjolras continued, unprompted. “I read that, and I just… broke down. That you could think of me that way, that anyone could really be that attached to me… that’s not something I could let go just because of some little fight.”

“You’re not the one doing the letting go.” Grantaire said icily. “I’m letting you go.”

Enjolras sighed. “Okay, I deserve that, I do, but I… Grantaire, they are messing with your head! They’re shooting your consciousness back in time --somehow, jesus christ, it seems impossible-- but it’s fucking with your head! There’s no way that it doesn’t fuck with you on some level.”

“Yeah, sure, you’re right.” Grantaire huffed. “It’s fucking with my head. I can’t sleep without it, I need meds now, it’s a whole thing… but I signed up for this. Literally. I signed all sorts of releases, so it’s not like I can sue them or anything.”

“You signed releases to be put in a  _ dream machine,  _ not a  _ time machine _ ! You have to turn them in to the appropriate authorities!”

Grantaire cried out in frustration suddenly, startling Enjolras, before spinning on his heel and marching away, back into his empty apartment.

“What are you doing?” Enjolras huffed, trailing into the kitchen after him.

“I’m giving up.” Grantaire rustled through the cabinets to find the bottle of bourbon that Nick and Jason kept for parties. He cracked open the label and popped the top easily, the motion as familiar to him as riding a bike, and rummaged for a glass. “Oh, fuck it.” He finally grumbled to himself after not finding a clean one, and raised the bottle hopelessly.

But before he could take his first sip, Enjolras’ hand found itself on his, encouraging the freshly opened bottle of pure Kentucky Bourbon away from Grantaire’s lips.

“Grantaire, put that bottle down.”

The words were so familiar, so much so that Grantaire was convinced that this exact man had said them to him before. The line between this Enjolras and the other was blurring so quickly, growing so thin.

But then, in the next moment, Enjolras’ mouth was on his. Not gentle or pleading like  _ his _ Enjolras, that belonged in 1832, not familiar at all, but rough and rude and boisterous. His tongue was in Grantaire’s mouth almost instantly, wanting, needing him, and forcing Grantaire to want and need him right back. 

He tasted like Grantaire's cigarettes and the rosé he'd almost ordered at Cha Cha's, his hair soft and silky to the touch when Grantaire’s left hand found its way through it, his right hand caressing down Enjolras’ back until it rested in the divot of his lower back, only to be encouraged lower by his lover's own forceful hand.

This was an entirely different game, an entirely different Enjolras than the one he knew before. This one’s teeth dug into his bottom lip and  _ tugged _ , this one’s hands fisted into the front of his shirt and dragged him closer. 

They fumbled together down the hall, through Grantaire’s bedroom doorway, before falling in tandem onto his bed. 

For the first time since they’d started seeing each other, Enjolras was going to be seeing Grantaire nervous. His hands twisted together as he sat back on his knees, putting space between them for the first time since the kitchen.

"How... how would you like to do this, Enj?" He asked, his voice soft and only faintly audible. One of his hands, now bored with twisting itself around its partner nervously, drifted to Enjolras’ ankle and stroked up the underside of his leg.

Something about this hesitancy was endearing. Enjolras sat up on his elbows and looked at him with a small smile, a warm blush on his cheeks, blond ringlets rolling off of his shoulder as he tilted his head to the side to better inspect him. "Well... like this is fine." He pressed his feet to either side of Grantaire’s thighs. Somehow, finding the words to say to him seemed hard.

He watched as his own thumb rubbed up Enjolras’ calf muscle, gently massaging it. He smiled down at it. “Are you trying to tell me you want to bottom?”

Enjolras smirked and pulled his feet away, planting them firmly on the bed so that his knees were in the air. “I want you in any way you’ll take me.”

Grantaire nodded silently, dragging his teeth along his bottom lip nervously, slowly making his way over his lover’s body until he could lay comfortably between his legs. He turned his head towards him, his eyes taking him in up close. 

It was hard to tell from far off, or even from standing right in front of him, but Enjolras had the smallest brushing of freckles along his high, sharp cheekbones. His hair, soft and gentle as it tickled Grantaire’s nose and cheeks, was more frizzy than it was curly, breaking off in a thousand different directions. 

Enjolras glanced over, catching his eye. His crinkled in return, giving away his shy smile. 

Hands in his thick dark hair encouraged their lips together, lips that begged more contact, their shared surface area not enough for the wanton blond man beneath him. 

He gradually pressed deeper into the kiss, his lips parting against his lover’s easily now, wanting more of him. He reached down to finally wiggle his briefs off, his fingertips far less agile than he’d like-- fumbling with the elastic band, his hands shaking just slightly.

Grantaire helped him tug off his own boxers, unable to resist reaching out and tracing his fingertips along his abdomen before looking up at him as if to ask, 'what next?'

He didn't think his blush was ever going to go away after this; it’d spread down his chest, all the way down to his hips. Enjolras wrapped his arms around Grantaire’s back, pressing his lips against his once more. 

Grantaire laid him down on his back again and climbed on top of him, lips migrating to his neck, this time grabbing Enjolras by his knees and hoisting them up, securing them around his waist.

He let out a soft groan in response, head tilting back against the bed, their bare cocks brushing together lasciviously. 

Grantaire trailed kisses down his chest until his eyes leveled with Enjolras' bare cock. He swallowed. Enjolras bit hard into his bottom lip as he watched him, gulping as he saw him so close to his exposed member. Goosebumps arose on his skin. " _ Jesus _ you’re gorgeous." He mumbled before wrapping a hand around the base and wrapping his lips around it. 

If Enjolras hadn’t been turned on before, he was now, and ungodly so. He let out a louder-than-originally-intended moan, the feeling of Grantaire's warm mouth around him sending a shiver down his spine, causing his hips to twitch before passing the sensation down his shaking legs to pool at last in his curled toes. 

He gripped the bottom half of his cock with his hand and caressed until he heard audible sighs of pleasure. He rubbed the thick vein under it with his thumb while his tongue rolled around the tip, moistening it.

Enjolras let out a gasping moan, his hands sliding down into Grantaire's hair, fingers curling into it to hold onto him, hold onto anything. "Fuck! G-Grantaire.."

Grantaire’s head popped up, a proud smirk on his face. "Yes, Enj?" His voice was light, teasing with only the slightest air of worry that he wasn’t doing quite right. He had to remind himself constantly that  _ this  _ Enjolras was so wildly different from his own, that the things that pleased  _ his  _ Enjolras might not apply to this one. 

All was set to ease when  _ this _ Enjolras looked down at him, lips parted, eyes wide. He fumbled for words, but nothing intelligible came out. His fingers, still buried deep in Grantaire’s hair, communicated what he needed.

Grantaire grinned at him and sat up; he pecked his lips before reaching behind Enjolras' head for a drawer. "Are you ready?"

Enjolras’ brow furrowed in response, and he shook his head. “We haven’t… I mean, I’ll probably have to do it, but I-”

“Oh!” Grantaire shook his head, his curls bouncing around his face erratically. He laughed lightly. “No, no, I guess… I meant emotionally? Like, do you really want to do this, I mean, we’ve only been on like, three dates, so-”

“Isn’t that when I’m supposed to put out?” Enjolras cocked his head, peering up at Grantaire. 

“No, not necessarily. Only if it feels right-” Grantaire backpedaled quickly.

Enjolras laughing interrupted him. “Grantaire, calm down. I’m teasing you, obviously.”

Not liking his smirk, Grantaire dove down and kissed him, effectively wiping that stupid grin off his face. One hand drifted to the cleft of Enjolras’ ass, pressing in gently.

The other man stiffened.

He frowned slightly. "Are you alright, Enjolras?"

Enjolras nodded quickly. "Just… wasn’t expecting it." He gave a light chuckle.

“Do you want to stop?”

“I want you to stop asking me stupid questions.” He snapped back, shuddering suddenly as he felt his body opening up, a small moan escaping his lips. He glanced up at him under his eyelashes.

Grantaire's eyes softened. "My god, you are beautiful."

He shivered at that and immediately bent up to kiss him whilst hoisting his legs up and around his waist. "I think I’m ready."

Grantaire sat back and enjoyed the view briefly before positioning himself and beginning that first slow slide in.

He let out a gasping moan as he felt his hips press into him, arching off the bed and against him. He bit hard into his bottom lip, taking him.

Grantaire slowed down considerably, resting one of his hands on Enjolras' slim, muscled stomach. "It doesn't hurt, does it?"

After a few moments of consideration, he shook his head, looking up at Grantaire with pleading eyes, wanting more of him, wanting all of him. He let out a soft whimper as he took all of him, his legs wrapping around him and drawing him closer. 

Grantaire ran his fingers through his hair and kissed him gently, silently reassuring him as he began the slow rotation of his hips, his thrusts small and gentle.

He let out a soft groan, adjusting to the sensation slowly, but surely. He slid his hands onto his shoulders, slowly rocking down into his thrusts. 

Grantaire gripped his hips and thrust deeper, relishing the feeling of Enjolras clenching around him. "God, Enjolras, you..."

He bit hard into his bottom lip in an attempt to stay quiet, rocking to meet each of his thrusts. His nails dragged along his shoulders as he took him, a shiver running down his spine e. 

Grantaire shivered at his nails raking over his skin. "Fuck, Enjolras, I'm- I'm close." He took his cock in his hand, stroking it in time with his thrusts.

Enjolras’ head tilted back against the bed, letting out breathless moans as he felt him stroke along his length. He had wanted this for too long-- there was no way he'd last. Crying out his name, he clenched around him and came hard, shivers running along his body. 

Grantaire followed soon after, pulling out almost immediately and collapsing on top of the other, resting his head on his chest. "Woah." He murmured breathlessly, half as a courtesy to his lover and half as an uncontrollably

Enjolras’ chest heaved in the aftermath as he attempted to catch his breath. He smoothed his hand through his stringy, sweat slick hair, his orgasm leaving him warm and sated.

"Bad or good?" Grantaire chuckled.

He replied quickly, eagerly, "Good. Definitely good. Way better than good."

"Good." Grantaire grinned, kissing his chest. "You're beautiful, you know." 

“I know.” Enjolras said playfully, brushing Grantaire’s hair back. “You know I would never put you in any danger. I could never do that to you.” 

“I don’t know that.”

“Then I’m telling you now. I could never do any of that to you.”

Grantaire huffed out a sigh, nuzzling Enjolras’ naked chest. 

~*~

Grantaire woke earlier than enjolras the next morning, taking care to tread lightly as he collected some of his sketching supplies and got to work.

Grantaire paused in his sketching to scratch his scalp with the tip of his pencil, effectively snapping the sharpened head. He swore softly. He didn’t want to wake Enjolras, who was still snoozing. But Enjolras woke anyway, sighing adorably and rolling over to expose himself to Grantaire with a sultry, lecherous grin. “What are you doing?”

Grantaire had to look up twice, once to see if Enjolras had awoken and a second time to let his eyes linger on this man of marble. “I’m… uh, I’m sketching.”

“Are you drawing me like one of your french girls?” Enjolras asked slyly.

Grantaire choked. “What? No, uh, I’m working on an assignment for class. We’re supposed to invent a new creature for a children’s book and illustrate it.”

“Is my figure not suitable?” Enjolras asked, smirking.

“No, I’m sorry enjolras, but your naked body is not conducive to the whole concept. Small children wouldn’t like it, I don’t think.” 

Enjolras rolled his eyes. “I suppose I should get back to those files, then.” He sighed, sliding out of bed lazily. 

“Oh, you don't have to do that.” Grantaire protested, setting his sketchbook aside and crawling back into bed, on top of Enjolras.

He grunted with the new weight on his chest. “That wasn’t a threat; I have to get back to work on that, Grantaire.”

“ _ Quelle heure est-it?” _ Grantaire mumbled in french, pressing lazy kisses to Enjolras’ neck.

“It’s nearly 10 am.”

“So we still have two hours until we  _ have _ to be productive.”

Enjolras rolled his eyes. “Or we could have begun our productiveness hours ago, like members of society that actually contribute.”

“Oh, hush.” Grantaire chided. “You needed your rest.”

Enjolras blushed. “You certainly wore me out.”

Grantaire’s fingers found his sides, stroked up them gently. He wanted to feel every inch of this man, at every hour of the day. “God, you’re gorgeous.”

“Ugh, god, no I’m not.” He squirmed away from the touch. “I’ve got morning breath, and there’s light now…”

Grantaire kissed him to shut him up. This Enjolras was better than  _ that  _ Enjolras.  _ That _ Enjolras was unattainable, was perfection incarnate. This Enjolras,  _ his  _ Enjolras, had flaws, insecurities. 

And  _ that’s  _ what made him perfect.

~*~

Grantaire took the time that morning to make breakfast. Nothing too special, just some toast and coffee, but he delivered it with a kiss on the cheek and a smile.

Enjolras took the coffee mug first, sipping gently. “Mm, thank you.”

“Take the toast, too. You need the energy.” 

Enjolras took a grateful bite, never tearing his eyes from the files he was reading.  “ _Phase two….”_ He read aloud from the screen, mouth full. “What’s Phase Two?”

Grantaire shrugged. “I dunno. I’m not the one who’s been reading their files for the past few weeks.”

“Well I’ve been reading them in chronological order, to establish a timeline, and I’ve never read anything about a second phase.” He double tapped it, only to be met with a red flash on the screen. “Can’t get in the easy way.” He pulled out his bluetooth keyboard and started tacking away on the tactile keys. “Let me just try… hm.” It let him through, behind the firewall. “Well that wasn’t too hard.”

“What’s in the folder?” Grantaire asked.

“It wasn’t a… okay, sure, the ‘folder’.” Enjolras huffed before peering at his screen. “Shit, my contacts are all dry.”

“Shouldn’t have slept with them in, then.”

“Well I didn’t exactly  _ plan  _ on sleeping over, Grantaire, jesus-” He rubbed his eyes, but stopped short when he saw his screen clearly. “Huh?”

“What?”

“It’s nothing.”

“No, Enjolras, don’t so that to me. Rachel kept me in the dark for so long I couldn’t stand if-”

“No, really Grantaire.” Enjolras tipped Grantaire forward so he could see the surface of the table and the blank document he’d uncovered. “It’s nothing.”

“What?”

“I know, right? Why put up a firewall if you’re not protecting anything?”

“Maybe it was redacted?”

“Then how are we going to be able to find it? It’s not like we can just waltz in and ask Rachel herself.”

Grantaire grinned and fished in the couch cushions for his phone. “No. But we can ask Emily.”

~*~

“What makes you think I have anything to do with Rachel? What makes you think I know anything at all?”

Enjolras said nothing, only stared her down harder, more intensely. 

Getting Emily over to his apartment hadn’t been hard. Since the beginning of Grantaire’s ‘dream therapy’, Emily had been hinting at a possible friendship between them. She’d jumped at the opportunity to have coffee at his place so that they could ‘talk’.

Suppose she assumed  _ Grantaire _ would be the one talking.

“Enj,” Grantaire said softly, laying a hand on his shoulder in an attempt to make him chill out. “Chill out.”

Enjolras laid his hand on top of his boyfriend’s, acknowledging him in the most minimal way possible. The poker face was strong with him; his eyes hadn’t left Emily yet. “You built this thing. _You_ built it and _you_ _alone_ understand it. Rachel Duncan doesn’t get this stuff, and even though she’s a real leader type and an idea man, _Rachel Duncan_ is no inventor. She doesn’t know the science like you do.”

Emily smiled softly, flattered. “You’re right. Rachel makes demands that I can’t meet, she doesn’t understand that the Animus has limitations.”

“Like what?” Enjolras asked casually, the hand over Grantaire’s stiffening.

“Her whole experiment, from the beginning, has been about alteration.”

“Alteration of what?” Grantaire asked. 

“Time.”

Enjolras practically choked on his instinct to laugh. “I’m sorry, what? Altering time?”

“Rachel Duncan thinks that if she can successfully change the course of time by projecting a subject into their ancestor and have them change something big, the timeline will be altered. Big enough for us to notice all the way up here in the future. And oh, boy, did she luck out with you, Grantaire.” She gave him a double eyebrow raise that insinuated more than he was entirely comfortable with. 

“What do you mean, she ‘lucked out’?” Enjolras asked petulantly.

“Grantaire’s history, of course.” Emily answered matter-of-factly. “Not only does his ancestor have a direct part to play in a very influential time in history, namely, the second French Revolution, but he has connections to the revolutionaries that attempted to overthrow the King.” She beamed. “And on top of that, he has a very strong connection to said ancestor. His dreams exhibit an anomaly we’ve never experienced before in our research, something that drew us to him in the first place.”

“God, get on with it, woman.” Enjolras groaned, eyes rolling far into the back of his head. “What does Rachel want?”

“She already told you,” Grantaire snapped, finally gaining the attention of the other two. “She wants to change time by sending me back to the french revolution. She wants to trick me into thinking they’re dreams for whatever reason-”

“She figured dreaming nice things would incentivise you to join us.” Emily interrupted.

“That makes sense.” Enjolras nodded.

“-And then further trick me into doing something that would send a ripple through time and change absolutely everything. What was she going to have me do, kill the king?”

Emily clicked her tongue and pointed two finger guns at him. “Bingo. If she can successfully kill an important monarch and change time, she can prove once and for all whether or not time is a fixed loop.”

“Doesn’t the Alternate Universe Theory say that every time something different happens in time, an alternate universe is created?”

“That’s one of the other theories, yes.”

“Okay,” Enjolras piped up. “Let’s say that there is no fixed loop and there is no alternate universe. If she changes the past, wouldn't we all start living in the new timeline, not knowing any different?”

“I tried to tell her that, but the woman doesn’t listen. She’s so fixated on figuring out the unknown that she doesn’t care if a) she fucks up the entirety of the space-time continuum, b) never sees the fruits of her labor because they are off in an alternate dimension, or c) time is a fixed loop and she spends her entire life chasing the impossible.”

“It seems like her chances of failure are pretty high here.” Enjolras pointed out.

“I never said Rachel wasn’t a fool.” Emily shrugged casually. “She’s ambitious as hell though. And she paid me a shit ton of money to make this thing. Clearly it works as a dream machine, though.”

“What?”

“Grantaire, do you remember when I put you in the dream with the bathtub?” She asked. He nodded. “That was, truly, inspired only in part by actual history. Most of it was my invention. I wanted to see if the Animus actually worked for dreaming, and apparently it has that capability. Worked like a dream, one might say.” Enjolras groaned at that. “I can’t thank you enough for letting me run these tests on you, it’s furthered my research so, so much.”

Grantaire shrugged. “I’m just glad to know the truth now. Plus Rachel is paying me a shit ton as well. I won’t have to worry about graduate school debts after all this.”

“I have so many questions now!” Emily’s expression was bubbly now; she was practically bouncing on the couch. “What was that first experience really like?”

“It’s all making sense now, really.” Grantaire mused. “I was wondering why I was white. All my black and indian genes must have come into the picture much later.”

Enjolras nodded in agreement. “That, and interracial relationships wouldn’t be very widely accepted until much later. When did you say this was? The 1800’s?”

Grantaire nodded. “My only thing is… he’s in a relationship with a man, so how am I in his lineage? If I were actually this guy’s ancestor, he would have to have actually  _ had  _ heirs. Like, offspring.”

“You can say kids, jesus.” Enjolras rolled his eyes.

“Yeah, but that guy that you… put me into-” He shuddered at how invasive it really was. “-He was a hardcore queer. Him and his lover… let’s just say I’m very well acquainted with this guy,  _ and _ with his love affair with  _ another man _ . So it’s impossible for him to have been  _ my _ ancestor, much less to have any ancestors at all.”

“He had a daughter.” Emily corrected him matter of factly. “We have documents, letters from this woman- probably a wife he had for a time but left for this male lover you speak of- to him, a will in her name stating that ‘To Grantaire, the man who bastardized my precious daughter, I give nothing but my debts’, so we can certainly conclude that he had a daughter.”

Grantaire stared at her for a very, very long moment. “Oh my god. Oh my god, she wasn’t lying.”

“Are you referring to the time you received the letter that we found, claiming that you had a daughter? Must have been the time you bastardized the poor girl.” Emily said, crossing her arms.

“I knew it, I  _ knew it! _ ” Grantaire snapped, spinning on his heel. “You can  _ totally  _ see what I see in there!” 

“Of course I can, Grantaire, that’s how this whole thing started.” She unfolded her hands and laid them on the table between them. “I had to see what you were doing to be sure that history was playing out properly.”

“You even saw the…” Grantaire swallowed uneasily.

She returned his uneasy look with an extra layer of discomfort for good measure. “It’s, uh… very endearing, that you’re so in love.” 

“Thank you.”

Enjolras glanced between the two of them, confused. “Wait, did you… in the Animus?”

“Consensually with my ancestor’s lover at the time, yes, fuck off.” Grantaire waved him away. “So, Emily, what’s the first step?”

~*~

“Are you ready?” Rachel asked the moment the door shut behind her. 

Grantaire nodded from his position on the raised level, having already been strapped into the machine mere moments ago. Emily was still by his side, and she squeezed his arm, gave him a slight nod, then retreated to her station. “I’m ready, Rachel.”

“Today’s going to be a good day, Grantaire.” She grinned at him with a crocodile smile. “You’ve been taking your medicine, and the tests have been progressing.” She sat in her high backed chair; this was the most relaxed Grantaire had ever seen her. “I’d like to get started as quickly as possible. Emily? Turn it on.”

Grantaire was back in the Musian in between blinks.

He was leaning up against a wall in an empty hallway, the room adjacent bursting with the voices of his comrades. 

Enjolras’ voice stood out above the rest as he called out names and assignments.

“Wait….” Jehan put his hand out, stopping Enjolras in his listing. “What of Grantaire? Nowhere in our plans have you listed his name.”

“Because Grantaire is in no part of my plan.” Enjolras said calmly, coldly, and without missing a beat..

Grantaire frowned. Why wasn’t he being included? He peeked into the room in time to see everyone freeze, glancing at each other nervously.

“We… aren’t taking Grantaire?” Marius glanced between all of his friends, confused. “We should need him if we are going to raid the Bastille for weapons. He’s the best at-”

“At what?!” Enjolras snapped. “He’s a drunk who is good for nothing but trouble.”

Woah. Emily really ramped up the anger in her version of the story. He heard it very clearly in the shrill snap of his lover’s voice.

He stepped out from his hiding place and knocked on the door frame sharply, twice. The room went silent. “Enjolras?” He said, drawing their leader’s attention. “May I have a word?”

Enjolras’ gaze, usually semi-soft when turning on Grantaire, only hardened. He strode passed Grantaire and across the hall, to the drunkard’s rooms. 

“Why are you excluding me?” Grantaire snapped the moment the door shut behind them. 

“Oh my god,” Enjolras rolled his eyes dramatically. “You don’t even  _ want _ to go, Grantaire! You’ll bitch and moan the whole way there!”

“You don’t think I’d want to be included at all? Even asked my opinion?”

“You’re being ridiculous.” Enjolras sighed, aggravated.

“You are not my father, Enjolras, you cannot keep me here against my will!”

“But I am the leader, and I feel as though you would impair this quest.”

“You really think, after all we’ve done together, that I am not good enough to go with all of you to save this country!? You think I’m that big of a failure!?” Grantaire shouted, his palm flattening out on Enjolras’ chest, both keeping him at bay and holding him closer simultaneously.

“No, Grantaire,” Enjolras took his hand and held it between both of his, his voice steadily rising. “Listen to me, I love you-”

Grantaire tore his hand away. “If you truly love me, why do you note believe in me?!”

They were both yelling at that point, faces slowly getting closer.

“How can you ask me to have faith in you when you are a cynic! You believe in nothing!”

“I believe in you!” Grantaire yelled, their noses bumping, as they had drawn very near each other during their  _ batte de mots _ .

Enjolras’ mouth hung open in partial shock. He took a moment, then tilted his head to the side and surged forward, capturing Grantaire’s mouth for a fraction of a second before Grantaire shoved him away.

“Don’t- Do not try to sway me with affection.” Grantaire glared at him. “I am not only yours, I am my own as well!”

“And I yours!” Enjolras was enraged, on the verge of throwing things. “I love you, I cannot have you in danger!”

“And when I come home to an empty bed, what thought do you assume runs through my head?! You could be dead!” Grantaire slammed his hand against the dark oak table. “Every day you leave me and risk your life! I  _ need _ you, you selfish bastard!”

“Selfish?! I’m selfish for defending a people who cannot do the same for themselves?!” Enjolras stormed passed him and threw open the door. “When the King is dead, we can talk about  _ your _ needs.”

So there it was, what Rachel wanted, plain as day, if a bit shoehorned in. Now all he had to do was act.

He waited until Enjolras stomped off before surveying his surroundings, looking for something of a weapon, before he remembered the fireplace. Nothing of use in there, unless he wanted to beat the king to death with a log, but there had to be something to  _ chop _ the wood with, of course.

He darted out of his home, searching his backyard for his axe, and upon finding it, tucked it into his belt. Spotting the axe of his neighbor, he went for that as well, thinking it couldn’t hurt to have another in his arsenal. Now, to find the Rats of Paris.

~*~

It didn’t take long to find Enjolras, as he was stood atop a building, shouting down passionate banter to the crowd below. 

Grantaire flipped his hood up and slipped into the crowd, ready to fight whether Enjolras liked it or not. He had to go along with the plan no matter what, thank god he wasn’t actually killing anyone this time. 

Enjolras, ever articulate in his mannerisms, swayed the crowd below into a unifying decry against the men who ran their country. Their shouts of rebellion grew in volume, drowning out his own words, and Enjolras turned to his second. “Combeferre, I need you to send Gavroche to find Grantaire.” He pulled a slip of paper from his pocket and handed it over. “I want him to know, before this… battle, that I-”

“That you love him.” Combeferre finished for him. “Of course, Enjolras.” He took the slip of paper from him and dashed off to find Gavroche, who was lingering about the outskirts of the crowd, snagging bits of bread from the pockets of a few. 

“‘Ello, ‘ferre.” Gavroche greeted him with a dirty grin.

“I need you to take this to Grantaire, and quickly. As quickly as you possibly can.” Combeferre handed him the note, and one franc. “The money is for you.”

“Thanks, mate.” Gavroche grinned and took both items, before darting off into the crowd.

He found Grantaire a hell of a lot faster than he anticipated, however, as he ran directly into him in the middle of the mob. “Oh. Hello.”

Grantaire pressed a finger to his lips. “I’m not supposed to be here, Gav. What do you need?”

Gavroche held up the note he’d been given. “Enjolras wanted you to have this. He’s probably worried he won’t come back.”

Grantaire took it with gentle hands. “If I have anything to do with it, he’ll be home safely by nightfall.”

The transition from dream to lab was much smoother this time, and his body didn’t ache, his mind didn’t cloud over. It was… well… nice.

“What’s going on?” He asked, mostly to Emily, who was hitting buttons frantically. “I wasn’t finished.”

“You’re fine, everything’s okay.” Emily assured him. “There was a hiccup in the serum, it’ll just take me a minute…”

Rachel looked furious, her fingers tapping away at the arm of her chair, but she said nothing.

“Re-synchronising.” 

With that, he was back, this time in the heat of battle. He stood in the palace Versailles, a palace in which he’d never been, yet it felt so familiar. 

From nearby, Marius let out a triumphant cry as he withdrew his sword from a guard’s belly. He turned to slash out again, only to be tackled by another soldier.

The man was on him, knife at the ready, the killing strike aimed at his heart, before a blade, distinctly Enjolras’, protruded from the neck of the man atop him from behind, effectively killing him.

“Don’t want Cosette coming home to an empty bed.” Enjolras helped his friend up from where he’d been tackled, kicking aside the corpse.

“I could say the same for Grantaire,” Marius countered. 

Enjolras nodded grimly. “If I… If I don’t return home, tell him I love him.”

Marius nodded and threw himself back into the fray.

Grantaire took the battle as a helpful distraction to get to the king. He fought his way up a back staircase, an axe in each hand, until he found himself on a balcony above where the king was, shouting orders to his men and drawing his sword to fight off anyone who dared approach him, which right then, was no one.

Grantaire swung his legs over the railing and dropped the few feet to the ground, crouching behind the King of France.

The axe on his right hip went back into his belt without a whisper. He gripped the one from his left hip tightly with two hands, then swung.

The shouting stopped immediately. Grantaire could feel the crunch of bones through the steady wooden handle. A second swoop had the King’s head on the floor at his feet, meeting polished tile with a wet squelch.

Everyone froze, watching in bewilderment as their quest was achieved in two fell swoops.

Enjolras’ eyes grazed Grantaire’s heaving chest, shock evident in his features.

“Satisfied?” Grantaire growled, smearing some of the blood spatter across his cheek while trying to wipe it off.

Combeferre glanced between the two men, withdrawing his sword from the still heart of a soldier.

“This is your apology to me?” Enjolras threw a dead soldier off himself.

Courfeyrac swallowed. “Gentlemen, we do not have time to waste. The King’s army is on his doorstep!”

“This is my statement.” Grantaire sheathed his axe. “I am  _ ending  _ this foolish endeavor, for you mean more to me than all of France!” He was yelling then, gesturing madly. He grabbed Enjolras’ arm, leaving bloodstains on the ripped red fabric of his trademark jacket. “You, you,” he pointed to two of their followers, “guard the hall before the King’s chambers,” he growled, then dragged his lover across the castle and beyond chamber doors.

~*~

Combeferre stomped up the steps with great urgency, once gun in hand and the other still strapped to his side. The army was on their way, the other half that the group of young revolutionaries had diverted to the far end of Paris. And then they were alerted, unfortunately, of trouble at the castle. And now, his friends were running out of time.

Creeking could be heard from the end of the King’s door, accompanied with an orchestra of soft sounds and mumbles of something that could be a name.

Combeferre opened the door to one of Enjolras’ long, broken moans.

Linen sheets were riding low around his friend’s hips, thankfully covering the place he and Grantaire connected. Long, red streaks graced their leader’s exposed back; blood left over from where Grantaire’s bloody fingers had scraped down his back in ecstasy. 

“Dear God,” Combeferre hissed, “What are you two doing!?”

Enjolras twisted his torso, not ceasing the rhythmic up-and-down of his hips. “I am with my lover, the man that has killed the King!” he said with a grin, one hand stroking down Grantaire’s chest.

“That man,” Combeferre pointed to Grantaire vindictively, “has committed a violent crime, and you lay with him in the King’s bed; treason upon trason!”

Grantaire sat up to suckle at Enjolras’ throat, eliciting a sound of pure joy. “I fail to see the direction in which your statement proceeds, friend,” Grantaire mumbled through flesh.

Combeferre crossed the King’s chamber and fired a shot through one window, using his elbow to knock the rest out. “An army wants your heads. You decide whether or not you die today.” He checked below him before swinging over the windowsill and disappearing from sight.

“We continue at home.” Grantaire rolled over to pull out of Enjolras; the other whined with the loss.

“Must we?”

“The sheets don’t feel right anyway.” Grantaire rolled out of bed and dressed quickly.

“The bed of a man worth 30,000 francs is not good enough for you?” Enjolras snorted, throwing on his jacket but keeping his shirt in his hand.

“One day out bed will be worth 100,000 francs,” Grantaire backed Enjolras against the broken window, forcing his lover to sit upon the wooden windowsill. “And we will be the most famous men to ever roam the Earth.”

“Very ambitious of you, my love.” Enjolras tugged Grantaire into a brief, fierce kiss before tumbling backwards out of the window.

“Grantaire watched as Enjolras hung upside down for a few seconds before looping his shirt around a flagpole and sliding down to safety.

Grantaire climbed down and sprinted after him, eager of the moments when they would finally return home. 

He would not return to either of their shared beds, however, as he was back in the lab before he could remember that this was all a dream in the first place. 

Emily was waiting patiently directly in front of the Animus. “Good morning, Grantaire.”

“Where’s Rachel?” He asked, wiggling free mostly on his own. 

“She scurried off the moment the king’s head hit the floor. I can only assume she’s calling a press conference right now.”

“So it worked?”

Emily gave him a pleased smirk. “It worked.”

~*~

They saw the fruits of their labor on the news, later that night. 

As Emily predicted, Rachel had called a press conference, which was being broadcast live. Emily and Grantaire had been invited over to Enjolras’ apartment to watch the coverage. 

The sparkling cider had been opened around the time that the broadcast had begun, and the three reveled in their victory. 

That is, up until Enjolras received a phone call.

“Do you want us to pause it?” Grantaire asked.

His phone was already pressed to his ear. “No, it’s fine, I’ll take it in my room.” He gave Grantaire a peck on the lips before departing.

“What’s that about?” Emily asked, sipping from her flute glass.

Grantaire shrugged. “It’s probably someone from work. He hasn’t got many friends that would call him, but he’s a pretty avid texter.” 

“What’s his work?”

“He works at a law firm, but he’s not a full blown lawyer. He usually sits second chair on minor corporate cases.”

“Corporate cases…” Emily mused. “Like ours?”

“What?”

“Ours would be corporate, I think.” Her eyes widened suddenly, and she sat up on the couch. “We’re going to get caught.” Emily whispered, chewing her thumbnail nervously. “I hid the evidence in the files so they would find it, to discredit her, that part’s fine, but I had to point out that what she was doing was illegal.”

Enjolras appeared in the doorway, his phone hung up and in his hand. “What she was doing _was_ illegal. You pointed out the truth.” He said matter of factly, seemingly on the borderline of boredom. “ _We_ didn’t do anything wrong.”

Grantaire shot him a glare. “Oh, really? Remember our second date?”

“Of course I do.” Enjolras raised his eyebrows, as if he were issuing a challenge.

“I’m not even going to ask.” Emily’s voice took on the hint of a whine. “The point is, I admitted to being involved in illegal human testing! At the very least, I admitted to knowing about it!”

“I’ll handle it.” Enjolras sighed, exasperated. “I wouldn’t worry about it.”

“What do you mean, ‘don’t worry about it’?! This is my future, my career, fuck, I could be imprisoned! Of course I’m going to worry!”

Enjolras ignored her, choosing instead to tap a few buttons and press his phone to his ear instead of responding disappearing down the hall once more.  

“Did you implicate yourself at all?”

“I mean, I had to put my name in there, it’s all over the files. And then Rachel wouldn’t know it was me that turned her in.” Emliy’s breath stuttered. “Oh god, Grantaire, I’m going down for this, aren’t I?”

“No, no, everything’s going to be fine, I promise.” He squeezed her arm gently, trying to comfort her.

“You can’t make that promise, Grantaire. You have no control over this situation anymore.”

“But I do.” Enjolras appeared from the hallway, phone in hand. “Or, at least, my boss does. He wants to talk to you, Emily.” He offered her his phone. “We can take you on as a client, if you’re willing.”

~*~

Emily was put on the stand first as a witness. The Prosecution, unfortunately, didn’t quite see her that way.

“And you built this machine?” He asked, pacing before her. This had been going on for a little over 30 minutes, and Grantaire was starting to get itchy, not only from his ill-fitting suit, but also the lack of nicotine in his system.

“I did.” She replied, her voice shaking.

“And you built it by yourself?”

“Yes, I did, with the exception of help from some engineers and contractors for the heavy lifting.”

“So this machine… you invented it?”

“I did. Rachel gave me the concept and I thought it was fascinating, it was impossible to get out of my head, so I designed it to her specifications, and I put it together.”

“And you did all of this knowing what the machine would do?”

“Yes, she came to me with the concept. I said that.” 

“You knew what the machine was capable of the entire time and you didn’t try to stop it?”

“I… I couldn’t stop it. Rachel was my boss, she made the rules.”

“So you admit that you knew about the illegal activities Rachel was allegedly conducting?”

Emily shook her head violently. “No, never! I never knew that what Rachel was doing was illegal. Ms. Duncan gave me every indication that what she was doing was legal and through the correct avenues. The machine needed to be run through tests, but those tests needed to be observed by the officials so we could proceed. I had every inclination that the correct officials were behind that glass!”

“And what glass is that?”

“Oh, well, there’s a panel of glass in the lab, a two way mirror, between the lab and the observation room. We only use it when people are there that aren’t us, though.”

“Did Rachel Duncan give you any explicit indication that there were people behind that glass?”

“Uh, yes.” She fumbled for the file in her shoulder bag that she’d toted up onto the stand with her. “I have several email printouts, I gave them to my lawyers.”

The judge looked from Emily to Enjolras’ boss. “Do you have them?”

“They were in discovery.” His boss rose to address the court. “I’ve highlighted relevant portions, there are several of them. Your honour, may we call Rachel Duncan to the stand and have her read them aloud for us?”

“I don’t see why not.”

Emily and Rachel traded places as swiftly as they could in their ridiculously uncomfortable looking court-presentable outfits. 

“Ms. Duncan,” Enjolras’ boss approached the stand. “Could you read the highlighted portion of the emails in question?”

Rachel cleared her throat. “This is from Rachel Duncan, myself, to Emily Dawes. I said: ‘Take patient R through a pleasant memory for me. I’m showing the Animus to investors today and I’d like him to be in a good place.’”

Enjolras’ boss smirked, as though he’d won, and circled back around to his desk. “Your honour, I’d like to call Ms. Duncan’s patient to the stand.”

Enjolras’ gaze snapped to Grantaire, who looked terrified. Enjolras shook his head quickly, mouthing ‘I didn’t know’.

Grantaire raised a hand, shaking him off, letting him know it was fine. 

“Is the patient here?”

Grantaire stood. “I am, your honour.”

The judge motioned him forward, and he took the stand.

“State your name for the record.” Enjolras’ boss prompted.

“Uhm, I’m Grantaire.”

“Hello, Grantaire.” He gave him a small, courteous smile. “And how do you know Miss Dawes?” The prosecutor asked, pacing before Grantaire, making him nervous.

“We met six months ago, when I agreed to be a human test subject for her boss.”

“And who is that boss? Did you ever meet her?”

Grantaire nodded, clearing his throat. “I met Rachel Duncan first, about a week before I was introduced to Emily.”

“Can you describe the nature of your relationship with Rachel Duncan?”

Grantaire pursed his lips, thinking. “I guess… strained? She did a lot of telling and not a lot of asking, if you know what I mean?”

“Can you clarify for the jury?”

Grantaire sighed. He wasn’t as good at all this as Enjolras was, he wasn’t good with words or expressing himself with them. “Uh, I can try? Sorry, I just…” He cleared his throat. “When I first met Rachel Duncan and agreed to be her subject, she told me what day and time to come in. I tried to tell her I had class at that time, but she told me I wouldn’t be attending that day. That… pattern of commands continued, up until the point a few weeks ago, when classes adjourned of course.”

“Can you think of any other times that Rachel Duncan was forceful with either you or Ms. Dawes?”

Grantaire huffed out a sigh. “Emily insisted, multiple times, that I shouldn’t do two sessions in a row. A session would be a time that I went into the machine, just to be clear. I’d be exhausted after just one session, but she’d force me down again. Emily protested, of course, she was always looking out for my best interests.”

“So, Rachel always won out over Emily?”

“Rachel Duncan always treated Emily like a subordinate, she introduced her as an assistant, she talked down to her, she ordered her around constantly, and then she forced her to do something impossible. Emily did everything she could to stop Rachel from breaking the fucking time-space continuum, but Rachel wouldn’t budge. She had to show her what the difference between what is possible and what is impossible, and I was the only way she could do what she had to.”

When he scanned the crowd after finally finishing his speech, he met Enjolras’ gaze, stony and unreadable. He was frowning, but this, of course, was to be expected. This entire trial process he’d been sullen when sitting in third chair; for all Grantaire knew that was his poker face. The only difference in his look this time was that he was staring directly at Grantaire.

“No further questions.”

~*~

Enjolras woke Grantaire later that night with a knock on his door, which he answered with bed head and a very irritated Fuzz Lightyear in his arms.

“Damn, that cat just looks scrappier every time I see him.” Enjolras chuckled, reaching out to rub his patchy little head.

“We think he has male pattern baldness.” Grantaire said, welcoming him in. “What’s up?”

“After we had lunch today… during the recess…”

“When I went home?”

“Yeah, then. We went back into court for about an hour… that’s all it took, really. Jury ruled.”

“And?”

“Emily’s been exonerated, but she had to make a deal for it. Rachel’s been put in prison.”

“Holy Shit.” Grantaire beamed. “This is… this is… holy shit.”

“Holy shit is right.” Enjolras twisted his fingers into Grantaire’s shirt collar, pulling him closer and kissing him. “Move in with me.”

“What?” Grantaire mumbled sleepily, still drawn in by the kiss.

“Sorry, kind of jumped to the end of my sentence there. Uh, I’m moving back to London at the end of next semester, and, well, since you are too, I was thinking… if we’re still together…”

“Yes.” Grantaire answered breathlessly. “Yes, I’ll move in with you. I would love nothing more.”

~*~

**Epilogue: 3 months later.**

“Did you take me here just to see his grave?” Enjolras asked petulantly, shivering under his umbrella.

“I wanted to see it, sue me.” Grantaire said, kneeling in front of the stone. 

“You didn’t have to drag me along with you.” Enjolras grumbled. 

“Oh hush, you love me.” Grantaire shot back. “I can’t tell if this says 1832 or 1882.” Grantaire ran his fingers over the stone inlay. 

“Which one, birthday or deathday?” Enjolras kneeled down next to him, squinting.

“Deathday. His birthday was in 1803, I already knew that..”

“So that would make him… either 29, or nearly 80 years old.”

“One is certainly more tragic.” Grantaire sighed.

“Do you know how he died?”

Grantaire shrugged and shook his head simultaneously.  “You know… there’s a way that I could find out.”

“You’re not seriously suggesting you go into that machine, are you?” Enjolras scowled, crossing his arms. “I’m not letting you go back in that thing.”

“Why not?” Grantaire protested. “Rachel is gone, Emily’s in charge now, and she knows exactly what she’s doing. She’ll take care of me.”

~*~

Emily was hesitant at first, but when Grantaire explained to her how willing he was and how well he’d been doing over the last few months, even after going off of his medication, she caved.

“I’ve been tinkering with it a little bit here and there. I like the idea of it working as a dream machine, so I’ve been pitching it to those FDA people and they really like it. We’re in talks to get me approved for human testing.” She explained as she led them down the familiar spiral staircase and into the lab. “Once it’s fully operational and rubber-stamped, I’d like to make it home-friendly.”

“Home friendly?” Enjolras asked. 

“You know. Portable. For the ease of the consumer.” She was grinning ear to ear. “But you’re not here to dream, so where can I take you?”

“Time of death, please.” Grantaire said, grinning.

“Well, that should be relatively easy to find.” One would expect her tone to be sarcastic, but she seemed oddly genuine. “I mean, it’ll obviously be right at the end of the timeline, so I’ll just speed you down to about… what do you want, 60 seconds before.”

“Better make it 80.” Grantaire was already stripping off his shirt. “Is there any way you can slow it down for me?”

“It’ll feel real to you, Grantaire. Your perception of reality should slow down at the point of death. That’s the theory, anyway.”

“Here’s to hoping, then.”

But before he could fully step into the Animus, both of Enjolras’ hands were on either side of his face, the tips of his fingers scratching at his scalp, drawing him impossibly closer. He didn’t use his tongue or his teeth, and the kiss was that much more passionate for it. It surged through Grantaire like a lightning strike, gave him breath and chills and the will to live all at once, it curled his toes and sent shivers down his spine. Enjolras didn’t make any moves to deepen the kiss, in fact he made no moves at all, and it only made him want more. Both of his hands fisted in the back of Enjolras’ shirt, dragging them even closer towards each other until their chests were pressed together.

He knew what this was. This was a ‘goodbye’ kiss, a ‘don’t leave me’ kiss, a ‘be safe’ kiss, a ‘come back soon or I just might die without you’ kiss. 

The moment Enjolras’ lips left his, he was being synchronized seamlessly.

_ Ten men cock their rifles, aiming down at the Man in Red and his Lover. The Lover finds his Man in Red’s hand as the Man in Red lifts his rebellious flag in victory. _

_ A shot. _

_ The Man in Red jerks back, a grimace painted on angelic features. _

_ A second. _

_ The Lover’s hand leaves the man’s, their intertwined fingers jolted apart by the round bolt of lead that buries itself in the man’s shoulder. _

_ A third. _

_ Strips of sunlight bathe the Man in Red, his blond curls lifting the light. _

_ A fourth. _

_ The Lover gazes upon his halo in wonder and awe. He was surely the Lover of an ethereal being. _

_ A fifth. _

_ Surely this is something divine _ _. He thinks.  _ _ Surely my angel will be protected, will protect me. _

_ A sixth. _

_ Blood and bone rip through the Lover’s lungs, but his eyes never left the Man in Red, never left the supposed savior of country. _

_ A seventh. _

_ The Lover’s knees buckle, his Man in Red’s shoulder rippling as he is hit again. _

_ An eighth. _

_ The man reaches for his Lover futilely, having been thrown back by the force of the bullets, too far for a final touch. _

_ The final shot sounds. _

_ His arms cast wide behind him as if they were heavenly wings, his curls hanging above his head, one stray strand stained pink with blood, clinging to his cheek. His Lover watches on, the final image burned into his eyes of his angel in red, his sun. _

_ Smoke clouds the room, and both men are martyred. One life given to country, one life given to love. _

_ One shot to the Lover, nine to the Man in Red, and the sun sets. _

Grantaire’s eyes shot open and he tore himself from the Animus, tears streaming down his face. 

Emily powered down the machine and took a step forward, but she couldn’t beat Enjolras to his side.

“R, are you alright?” His voice was frantic and his hands we shaking, both uncharacteristically nervous for this strong, confident man. 

“Yes, yes, I’m fine.” Grantaire assured him, squeezing his bicep, as it was the only part of Enjolras that he could reach. “It… It was so much more real, this time.”

“I’m sorry.” Emily apologized, kneeling beside him. “You said you wanted the full death experience, I just wanted to give it to you-”

“I know.” Grantaire reached out to her and laid a hand on her knee. “I asked for this, it’s not your fault.” 

Enjolras wiped a tear from his cheek, gently. “What happened?”

“He was so young… they both were… they failed, Enj, they didn’t get justice or peace or bread or anything.” 

“Not just then… but eventually, right?”

“Is eventually really good enough, though?”

Enjolras sighed and kissed his cheek. “Only you can tell, Grantaire.”


End file.
